


December 21st

by r_hirta



Series: They Call It Puppy Love [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (Joanne should be too), Angst and Humor, Attempt at Humor, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Humor, M/M, Marauders' Era, POV Remus Lupin, Sirius and Remus Raise Harry AU, a darth vader helmet, a one day at a time love story, and one very damp bag of doritos!, if slightly more dedicated to dick jokes, spread out over a good twenty years, there will be a cute wee wiz or two! several awkward teens! and emotionally constipated adults!, there will be chicken dancing, there will be kisses!, this is about as fluffy as a pygmy puff, with the expected character deaths implied by that (sorry)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-18
Updated: 2019-03-12
Packaged: 2019-08-03 19:52:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 40,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16332392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/r_hirta/pseuds/r_hirta
Summary: "You are a very odd sort of boy, Remus Lupin."Well, it’s not as if Remus can argue with that.





	1. Remus Lupin v. Sleep

**Author's Note:**

> So you know how dogs sometimes go find a dead thing and then just like, roll around in it until they get nice and thoroughly coated with the smell? That was me writing this fic, except marginally less self-indulgent (ha jk) and instead of a half-rotted squirrel it was some fictional gay wizards and their tragic love. 
> 
> This is a Remus and Sirius Through The Years story and stays (relatively) close to canon up until the later chapters, wherein nobody goes to prison and baby Harry gets the adoptive parents he always deserved. I would have avoided telling you that up front and spoiling the plot, except there isn’t one - this is all just feelings and banter with a side of even more feelings and banter. And a sprinkling of feelings on top just to round everything out nicely. ‘Produce the content you wish to see in the world,’ and all that. And apparently the content I wish to see is a) Gay, b) really, deeply sappy, c) includes a cornucopia of dick-joke centered dialogue, d) involves Harry James Potter in any way possible. As if anyone is surprised. 
> 
> FYI: this story is 90% completed, and will be finished and posted chapter by chapter over the coming weeks. I have decided to begin staggered posting in the hopes that it will help with motivation (lol! famous last words! sheer hilarity! *starts sobbing*) on banging out that final 10%. There will be seven chapters to this main fic, with several supplementary, stand-alone ficlets based in this universe to follow. Onward into the breach, my pals.
> 
> Also: this is the first HP fanfic I have written in nearly fifteen years (*creaks with age*), so if you find anything remotely decent and would like to tell me so, that would be really, wonderfully nice. Like, too kind. So very, very appreciated. 
> 
> <3

**December 21st, 1971**

* * *

 

Remus is lying on his back underneath his four poster, nibbling at a square of his under-the-pillow chocolate and trying not to think about the fact that the full moon is less than a week away.  

He can feel the tide of the change already pulling at his blood, dark and virulent and clawing at him from the inside out. He knows if he thinks too hard about it he'll work himself up into a nervous sweat and ruin tonight for sleeping, full stop.  

He supposes he could use the time to do some reading, but the half-exasperated voice in his head that belongs to his mum urges him to, ‘Focus on your rest,  _ a bhobain! _ Yon pages won’t disappear in the night.’ Besides, he doubts even the more interesting of his textbooks or his favorite Shelly would help to soothe his anxiety. 

He feels jittery, half-panicked, and his bones have that strange heaviness they often get, like they’re gearing up for something. Like they’ve already begun to shift. 

He gazes absently at the maroon fabric over his head and wonders if he should have a go at counting sheep as a means to distract himself.  People are always talking about that sort of thing, aren’t they? 

He gives it a try. 

Unfortunately anything sheep related has high potential for conjuring up the obvious wolfish side-references, an aspect that renders that particular mental exercise rather null, and he abandons the attempt after a few short minutes. 

He turns his attention to the four corners of the canopy above him instead. Not really counting them, just sliding his eyes from one to the next, around and around in comfortable circle. One, two, three, four.  

He could count them, he supposes. Four is a good number for counting - even, calming, easily divisible. He lets another square of chocolate dissolve on his tongue and tries again. 

One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four.  

This new method seems to be working, and he falls into a half-peaceful lull, broken only by sporadic thoughts regarding the more puzzling aspects of the magical theory of transfiguration, which have been plaguing him off and on since the start of term.  

Questions like: was turning mice into snuff boxes actively killing the wee things? Or was it effectively - and just as horrifyingly - trapping their minds inside an inanimate object? 

What even was a snuff box in the first place, and when would he ever need one to such a degree that he'd be willing to sacrifice the nearest rodent at hand?  

One, two, three, four. One, two, three -

And on the other side of the animate-inanimate transition, such as when Professor McGonagall had transfigured that book into a bird on their first day of class - did the transfigured bird have thoughts? Because if he's being honest, Remus doesn't think encouraging school children to bestow consciousness on random objects willy-nilly is at all advisable.  

One, two - 

And why on earth had she told them that magic didn't permit you to transfigure anything into food, as if that somehow made sense in relation to everything else they were learning? People ate birds all the time.  

One - oh, bugger it. 

He sighs in frustration, resolving to ask Madam Pince for a few suggestions on supplementary reading material and then giving up his counting as a lost cause. He's more wide awake than ever.  

At least he'll get to have Christmas at home before the moon takes him, he reflects. He's embarrassingly eager to see his mum again in any case. 

It's always a little bit easier to bear, knowing she'll be there, afterward.  

He sighs again and gives the counting a more determined go;  _ one _ , two, three, four. One,  _ two _ , three, four. 

One - 

"Psssst _. _ "  

\- two, three, four.  

"Oy! Remus!” 

The whisper comes more forcefully this time, from somewhere behind the curtains to his right, and Remus jolts a bit in response.  

"Are you awake?" the voice tries again, louder in the still quiet of the dormitory, and this time Remus has no trouble identifying its source.  

He quickly stuffs the half-full wrapper of chocolate back under his pillow – though whether to preserve it from Sirius' own rabid sweet tooth, or so the sight of him lying here will less obviously convey 'I am a sad case who lies awake at night staring wistfully at the ceiling, eating sweets and missing my mother,' he couldn't say.  

"Erm," is all he manages in response before the shaggy head of Sirius Black pops through the bed curtains like a mad jack in the box.  

"Oh jolly good, you're up too," Sirius huffs, flinging himself down onto Remus' mattress with a grunt and turning to pull the gap in the curtains closed behind him. "Bloody freezing out there."  

"Well what were you doing wandering about in the middle of the night?" Remus whispers back, wriggling to one side in an effort to make room for Sirius' pointy elbows. "And without socks on," he hisses, barely suppressing a squeal as Sirius shoves his half-frozen feet under Remus' thigh without preamble.  

"What sort of heathen goes to bed with socks on?" Sirius mumbles, burrowing closer. "I couldn't sleep."  

"And the obvious solution to that problem is to come over here and guarantee I can't either? Merlin, would you get those ice blocks away from me -"  

"Quite right – as a man must suffer, so his friends must suffer also, or some such."  

Chilly-limbed discomfort notwithstanding, Remus feels a happy dip in his stomach at the word 'friends.’ 

Remus hadn't gotten the chance to foster many friendships while growing up - for the obvious furry and violent reasons - and upon entering Hogwarts he had been quite concerned that he wouldn’t be any good at it when the opportunity finally presented itself. 

Turns out he needn’t have worried about his own relationship savvy, as James had simply popped up at his elbow at the welcome feast and launched directly into easy conversation, as if he’d already made up his mind that they were to be friends before Remus had managed to do more than blink at him. Sirius and Peter had followed suit with a similar lack of hesitation, and Remus had been ushered along into the happiest four months in memory. 

A secondary, not at all happy dip comes at the thought that James, Sirius and Peter likely wouldn't stay his friends, not if they knew -  

"What's keeping you up then?" Sirius inquires, teeth chattering slightly.  

"Oh, um," Remus murmurs. "Just, ya know, excited about hols. Aren't you?" he asks, turning his face to look at Sirius, half-visible in the dark.  

There’s a cloudiness to Sirius’ expression that Remus doesn’t think can be attributed to the dimness of their surroundings; it’s an odd thing to see on a face that usually wears exuberance like a uniform.  

"Not – not quite," Sirius replies, slowly, quietly - tempered in a way that Remus has noted to be rare for him, though not entirely unheard of. 

Remus would call his expression ‘thoughtful’ on anyone else, but for Sirius - Sirius is always full of thoughts, brimming over with them even, often letting them slosh out in the form of outlandish pranks and a dozen ridiculous jokes for any topic. Occasionally those thoughts will go streamlined, pointed, and in those moments Remus can see Sirius for the unstoppable force he is. 

"My parents,” Sirius continues, before trailing off. “I'd rather stay here, is all. I'd go with James – he invited me, did you know?" 

Remus can make out his soft smile, a slow flash of white teeth in the dark.  

"I hadn't, that's nice," Remus answers. He feels a strange little twinge of jealousy at James and Sirius' closeness; the four of them might be tied at the hip, but James and Sirius are knotted tighter than the rest. 

Remus knows it's a childish reaction, knows that he should be grateful to be included in any small way, but it's a hard feeling to shake. 

He thinks he’d like to know how it feels, someday, to be someone’s very best mate. 

"I would go with him," Sirius is saying, "it's just – I can't leave – I haven't seen Reg since September."  

Remus feels a pang for him. He knows Sirius’ relationship with his family has been strained since the sorting at the beginning of term, but from the amount of correspondence exchanged between them and the regularity with which Sirius speaks of him, he gathers that Sirius and his younger brother remain quite close.

Sirius clearly misses him, and Remus is glad Sirius can look forward to seeing one of his relations again, at the least. 

"Do you think – do you think he'll be in Gryffindor, like me?" Sirius asks, in a rushed, near-whisper that does nothing to mask the note of hope in his voice. 

"I hope so," Remus replies honestly, watching as a pleased dimple dents Sirius' cheek at his words. 

"Though if he truly is anything like you I doubt I'll want to associate with him – not sure I could deal with another insensitive berk shoving their ugly, freezing feet at me in the middle of the night," he teases, wanting to see Sirius' smile go wider.  

It does, his grin coming on as fast and as sharp as his pinch to Remus' arm. 

"You should feel privileged to have my handsome and aristocratic foot-cicles anywhere near you," Sirius scoffs. "At least mine don't stink like a week-old troll fart, the way James' do," he comments offhandedly, then sighs. "Are you excited to see your mum? I hope she's feeling better these days."  

Remus is grateful for the darkness, feeling his face heat in a blush. 

It's an easy lie to tell, he knows, but sometimes he's afraid it'll jinx them - that she'll actually get sick, and then where will he be? The panic he feels at the thought is enough to make him almost grateful for the reality of the situation. He’d much rather it be him than her, one way or another. 

“Oh, she’s - she’s alright, I reckon,” he murmurs. “For now, anyway,” he adds, thinking of the next month, the inevitable resurfacing of that easy lie. 

His mood plummets again, the horrible specter of the moon dogging his thoughts. He glances over at Sirius, whose own countenance is still a bit troubled around the edges, his eyebrows drawn together and the angle of his jaw rigid and set. 

Remus scans his thoughts for a lighter topic to distract them both. 

His earlier frustrations niggle at his mind again, prompting him to ask, “Did you take notes during Transfiguration yesterday? Do you mind if I review them on the train tomorrow? I know you lot were busy pelting Severus with bits of parchment for a bulk of the lesson - exceedingly mature, that was, by the way - but if you managed to get down that bit toward the end I’d like to check and make sure I didn’t miss -” 

“How dare you mention that name to me, Re! And at Christmas,” Sirius mutters in scathing tones. 

“Snape?” Remus rolls his eyes, the darkness likely assuring the gesture is even more ineffectual than usual. “I have no idea why you and James are so dedicated to -” 

Sirius hisses like a cat. “He is our sworn enemy!” 

“You can’t have a sworn enemy, you’re eleven.” 

Sirius huffs, one elbow jabbing Remus’ side as he crosses his arms over his chest. “I can do anything I set my mind to. A portrait in our attic told me that once.” 

Remus doesn’t really have a retort to that, partially because he does truly agree with that sentiment, and also because - though he wants to pick apart just why Sirius was chatting with some kindly old portrait in an attic, of all places - he doubts he’d get a straight answer if he tried. 

He sighs and raises his arms to tuck both hands behind his head. 

"Do you think if you transfigured a Pumpkin Pastie into a slice of treacle tart, would it still taste like the pastie even if it looked and felt like the treacle?" he inquires, unable to shake his vexation. "Is that the problem?" 

"If it is then you have some very bizarre problems, mate,” Sirius mutters, incredulous. “What are you on about? Are you feeling peckish? I know you must have a chocolate bar or two in here." Remus can feel the sheets shifting as he paws at the covers, searching.  

"How did you -"  

"Because I already got to the one in your bedside table, so I know you must be pulling from the reserves." Sirius shuffles around a bit more, fluffing up his side of the pillow before flopping back down. "Besides, you can't transfigure food – McGonagall said that. Gimpy-somethings Law, or what have you."  

" _ Professor _ McGonagall. And I know! But why? What's the problem? I'm sure I could ingest a snuff box if I really set my mind to it, so where does the distinction come in? Does the magic just somehow know whether or not you intend to eat the thing you are transfiguring, no matter what it is? And what if I wanted to turn a jumper into, I dunno - a haggis, maybe - but not for the purpose of eating it?"  

"Why would you want a haggis if not to eat it? That’s not the best example actually, it’s barely edible as it is - but why else would you go through the trouble of getting one?" 

"For recreational purposes? I don't know, but I think it's reasonable to want to know whether or not I  _ could _ ."  

Sirius sighs, his eyes fluttering shut. "You are a very odd sort of boy, Remus Lupin," he says, his voice gone thick with fatigue.   

Well, it’s not as if Remus can argue with that. 

"Oh," he manages, feeling his cheeks heat again.  

"Stop blushing, I meant it as a compliment," Sirius tells him, not opening his eyes.  

Remus' face is now positively burning. "How did you -"  

"I am an immensely powerful, all-knowing warlock. Also, you're always blushing. I'd call you Tomato Boy if you weren't shaped like a broomstick." He pauses to yawn, mouth wide, his teeth gleaming once more in the almost dark. "The stick part, I mean, not the bristly end. Meant only as a term of endearment, mind."  

Remus rolls his eyes at the canopy. "Yes, well you are an insufferable git, and I mean that with utmost affection." 

Sirius lets out a sleepy snort before his breaths go suddenly deep and even, a soft, buzzing snore buried in every other one.  

Remus turns on his side to face him, watching the duvet cover over his chest rise and fall with his slow and rhythmic inhalations. He starts to count them, keeping the pace from before. One, two, three, four.  

Even the timber of Sirius’ snore sounds weirdly posh and crisp, Remus thinks to himself, huffing a breathy giggle.

One, two, three, four.  

One, two… three...

This time it works, and he follows Sirius into sleep within minutes.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remus Lupin is the sweetest, dearest boy and yes I do think he would call her *Professor* McGonagall even in his head. 
> 
> ALSO I know that the fandom obsession with Remus’ obsession with chocolate is likely a bit over-dramatic but I LOVE IT so oh well and pillow chocolate for everyone.
> 
> OK so this is slightly off topic, but the portrait comment was in reference to a headcanon I have that bb Sirius, already feeling a bit like a black-sheep (or not-very-Black-sheep lol pun fun) amongst his horrible, stodgy family, finds an unexpected ally in a dusty old portrait of a long-dead relative - a witch who rejected the family’s anti-muggle prejudices and in consequence got her name scorched off the family tree and her portrait shoved into the darkest corner of the crawl space.
> 
> I can just picture little pre-Hogwarts Sirius getting all restless and sneaking up into the attic to have a think and a rummage, getting his fancy dress robes covered in cobwebs in the process, and stumbling across the picture all ‘Oh, hello, Missus’ - curious though already a little wary. BUT THEN she’s actually kind and encouraging, if a bit gruff, and lets him in on all the family’s bullshit and tells him it’s alright that he doesn’t fit in with their lot, that it’ll probably only get worse as he gets older but he’s tough and can take it, and that they’re all a bunch of wicked salauds and fuck trumpety fascists anyway.
> 
> I also think that maybe during fourth year Christmas (Sirius’ last at the Black house) he tries to shrink her down and smuggle her to Hogwarts, but the spell won’t take and also she’s all ‘I do care for you, you wee prat, but no way in hell am I about to go live in a boys’ dormitory, are you fucking kidding me - this manky attic is probably more hygienic, for starters -” so he gives up and leaves her be.
> 
> I haven’t picked a name for her yet - Lyra? - but I do know that she was definitely a lesbian and also ABSOLUTELY taught Sirius every french curse word she could think of, then a few more. 
> 
> I’ll let you know if I update this at all in the future? Yes??
> 
> Thanks for reading!! <3


	2. Remus Lupin v. Puberty’s Cruel Humor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang catches a train.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is long because teenage awkwardness is a fun thing to wallow in.  
> From the safe distance of a decade or two, anyway.

**December 21st, 1975**

* * *

 

A log shifts in the fire, startling Remus from his drowsy contemplation of the textbook page in front of him.

He’s curled up in a cozy chair in the Gryffindor common room, ostensibly making brief notes on Intermediate Potions for Peter to look through, but mostly daydreaming and methodically munching on their freshly re-stocked supply of Honeydukes treats. They’ve technically been on Christmas holiday since they passed in the last of their parchments this morning, so Remus doesn’t feel the need to make himself overly guilty about it.

He reaches over to snag another Chocolate Frog from the veritable mountain of them that James has piled on one of the tufted, maroon hassocks, and tries again to focus on the pages propped open on his knees.

He is also trying - desperately, and for seemingly the millionth time this hour - not to stare at Sirius Black.

The desire to regularly stare at Sirius is a new fixation of Remus’, having begun somewhere between the dawn of time and the start of term; Remus cannot pinpoint when exactly it had begun, but he is well and truly in the thick of it now, with no sign of reprieve.

Something is just different about Sirius, this year - something about the way his shoulders seem to have changed shape over the summer, or the way his smile, always lovely, now makes something in Remus’ chest go bright and warm and agitated. Even more so when that lovely smile is directed directly at him; an occurrence that happens all too regularly, to Remus’ joint dismay and glee.

It’s true that to be the recipient of Sirius’ full, focused attention is something Remus has craved since age eleven, but lately the reality of it has gone from exhilarating to almost unbearable in how good it makes him feel. He wants Sirius around him all the time, constantly - a desire rather conflicted by the fact that he can barely stand to look at him for more than a few consecutive seconds.

Looking at Sirius has become a strange hardship, making Remus go all difficult and twitchy, but his eyes also don’t seem to want to look at anything else.

The whole thing is extremely confusing, and rather a bother.

Worst, Remus thinks Sirius might be starting to notice.

All four Marauders - and damn, Remus is really trying to avoid calling them that even in his own head, how bloody embarrassing - are clustered around one of the common room’s low tables, James and Remus in mismatched armchairs and Sirius and Peter sharing a squashy loveseat in between.

Nearly the entire house has gathered to await the train that will bring them back to London for the start of their winter holiday. Unsurprisingly this means that James' eyes have been flicking over to where one Lily Evans is reclining in her own armchair by the fire, roughly every ten seconds since he himself sat down.

Remus can only hope his odd fixation on Sirius doesn’t come across so obviously.

After a valiant three minutes of leaving well enough alone, James calls over to her. "Anything good in your muggle periodical today, Evans? An announcement regarding our impending matrimony, perhaps? Or anything else colorful you'd like to share?"  

"Oh yes," Lily deadpans, eyes still fixed on the article she's reading. "It says here that there was a disaster aboard the S.S. Smarmy Gits Should Keep Their Unsolicited Noses Out of Other People's Business." She looks up at James over the top edge of the newspaper. "Straight to the bottom. No survivors."  

James beams at her. "Tragic."  

"Indeed," she sighs, rolling her eyes before dropping them back down to the words on the page, though Remus spots the corner of her mouth twitch.  

James turns back around in his chair and nods. "I think she's right, lads – a nautical theme for our wedding reception would be delightful. I have a feeling I would look dashing in a muggle seaman's cap."  

Peter elbows Sirius and they both snigger. Remus rolls his eyes.  

James ignores them all and continues, "As the groom it is within my authority to choose my best mens' fancy dress clothes. So, Sirius - Merperson."  

"More like Mer-Sex God," Sirius interjects, flexing both of his arms for emphasis.  

Remus quickly averts his eyes back to his parchment.  

"And, considering his strange affinity for them, Remus will be our resident Grindylow."  

"For the last time," Remus sighs, snapping his book shut in defeat. "I said 'horrible' not 'adorable' - it was just difficult to enunciate with all that fucking lake water in my sinuses -"  

"Wormtail will be the Giant Squid, naturally. The two of you share a similar charisma," James concludes, speaking over Remus and winking at Peter.  

"Oh do come on, James," Peter whines, throwing his head back against the sofa cushions. "You cannot do that to me! All I ever hear about weddings is that they're a great place to meet birds – how am I supposed to pull if I'm dressed as a fucking squid?"  

"Don't be that way, old chap," Sirius says, worming a consoling arm around Peter's shoulders and pulling him upright. "The virility of that particular squid is palpable. Just picture it," he continues, gesturing vaguely with his other hand toward the middle distance. "You're standing beside James at the altar, your glistening, papier-mache tentacles swaying in a gentle breeze -"  

"Glistening? Why are they glistening?"

"They're wet! Authenticity is key, Petey. Anyway, you look over, meeting eyes with a nubile, young bridesmaid dressed as a grouper. Perhaps she flashes a bit of fin. Things could get quite aquatically-charged, if you know what I -"  

"Sweet Christ on toast, please stop," Remus groans.  

"Yes please do," Lily huffs from her armchair, rolling up her newspaper and tossing it onto the side table. "I'd pay you to shut it, Black, but the results weren't exactly favorable the last time I tried it."  

Sirius lounges back, legs spread out and feet propped up on a low table, his boot soles perilously close to a stack of library books Remus has borrowed for the break.

Remus would tell him off, but that would amount to admitting that he is looking at Sirius’ legs. Which wouldn’t exactly be all that strange, except that for some reason the prospect of doing so makes Remus want to swallow his own tongue.

"Exactly how much time did you think two knuts and a sickle was going to buy you, Evans?” Sirius shrugs his shoulders against the couch cushion. “Economics. I don't make the rules."  

"I did hope it would have been worth more than thirty-eight seconds," Lily sighs, rotating in her chair so that her stocking feet dangle over the arm and closer to the fire in the grate. Fat, fluffy flakes of snow drift slowly beyond the window over her head.

"If it helps, that’s still his personal record," Remus tells her, smiling.  

She grins back at him lazily.  

"Remus stop flirting, it's putting me off my sweets," Sirius snaps, sitting up sharply and dropping his half-eaten Ice Mice onto the cushion beside him.

Remus frowns. Sirius has been doing that quite a bit, recently - snapping at him, or going strange and moody at odd intervals. Remus worries it's in reaction to his own, admittedly bizarre, behavior of late.

Or worse yet, because Sirius somehow suspects just why Remus is behaving so oddly.

Normally Remus would snap right back, but now his stomach goes hard with a bizarre sort of hurt and all he can think to do is hide. He groans internally and opens his book back up to bury his nose in it.

He stares at a notation about Shrivelfigs without really reading it and resolves to get a better handle on his – on whatever this is.  

He can’t keep letting Sirius be an unchecked berk to him, for one thing.

"Look, Evans,” Sirius addresses Lily, “I'll admit that cash has historically been a very poor motivator for me, due to my intimidatingly vast wealth. Also admittedly that wealth is now in itself historic - but the welcome disownment is very recent and it will doubtless take some time for the habits of poverty to kick in."

Remus marvels at Sirius’ ability to joke about his recent break with his family. He isn’t sure he’ll ever be able to shake the look Sirius had worn upon first finding out - from a fucking letter in the breakfast post, of all things. Not even a Howler, either. Just a short, prosaic missive jotted down like an afterthought. The thought of that morning still makes Remus see red.

Remus had only been able to catch ‘... _would be pleased to never see your face again_ …’ from over Sirius’ shoulder before James had grabbed the parchment from his shaking hand and shoved it into the nearest fireplace, muttering determinedly, “Well, you’ll just come home with me for hols again. We’ll sort out summer plans with mum while we’re there.”

There’s no trace of that haunted look now, as Sirius gestures flippantly in Lily’s direction and continues, "But if we were to barter in, say, sexual favors -"

"Oy!" James shouts, bolting upright in his own armchair and jarring the hassock so that the pile of frog boxes upsets and cascades to the carpet like an avalanche.

"Hush, Prongs, obviously I'd be brokering such a deal for _you_ ,” Sirius chides. “Everyone knows I don't go in for redheads. Well, the type who have breasts, anyway. So, Evans, if you'd be amenable -"  

"Quite the opposite, Black," Lily drawls, not opening her eyes. "You see I don't go in for necrophilia, and I assure you that both Potter and yourself would be quite thoroughly dead before either of you got within two feet."  

"Harsh." Sirius shrugs. "Sorry, Prongs. Lost cause from the start, I think. Time to find a new _objet d'affection_ , perhaps. Possibly one who actually likes you, or at least one a smidge more responsive to bribery."  

"Nonsense. Besides, being coolly murdered by such a woman would be a privilege unto itself," James coos, emphatic.

"That is a fortunate outlook for you, Potter," Lily mutters.   

"It's going to be quite amusing to look back on all this adolescent hostility when we are surrounded by hoards of our grandchildren, eh, Evans?"

"Piss off."  

"It's quite romantic, if you think about it."  

Lily sighs heavily and swivels around to tie on her boots before standing up.

"C'mon you lot, the train should be arriving soon,” she addresses the room at large. “And just think, if we get down to the platform in enough time there is a delightful chance someone will be able to push Potter onto the tracks just as it's pulling in."  

"Your shining optimism has always been one of your more attractive features, Evans. Now what do you think – should we perform a musical number at our fortieth anniversary party? Or is that more of a Golden Anniversary sort of thing?"

The common room struggles into their cloaks en masse, shuffling toward the portrait hole with varying degrees of haste and excitement.

Looking around at the chaos, Remus remembers belatedly that as a Prefect it likely should have been he himself making the announcement ushering them all down to the platform. Unfortunately his failure to do so comes as no surprise; why Professor Dumbledore thought he was suited to the role, Remus will never know. He’s proven to be absolutely dismal at it.

In all honesty, his plate had been rather full - what with his brimming course load, the monthly furry inconvenience, and the highly undignified surfacing of teenage hormonal whatsits - without the added responsibility of mitigating the tomfoolery of an entire house of adolescent wankers, his best friends chief amongst them.

He wishes he could have refused, but that didn’t seem to have been provided as an option. Not to mention Remus couldn’t imagine denying Professor Dumbledore anything he asked, given all that the man had done for him.

Remus is distracted from thoughts of his Prefect-ly inadequacy at the sight of Peter tugging on a knit cap the general shape of an oversized sock, in a truly horrible flesh-brown color.

Sirius gapes at Peter for a moment, then sighs in a beleaguered sort of way and says, “Don’t take this the wrong way, Pete, but that hat makes you look a bit like a congenitally doltish Flobberworm.”

“Oy!”

“Is there a right way to take that?” Remus inquires, doing up his cloak buttons. “You look fine, Peter - like an extremely erudite Flobberworm, at the least. Don’t let Padfoot shortchange you.”

“My mum knit me this,” Peter grumbles, pulling the cap off and leaving his wispy blonde locks standing up with static.

“Well if you’re still looking for a gift for her I think a new pair of glasses wouldn’t go amiss,” Sirius tells him, patting his shoulder and then ducking Peter’s responding punch.

By the time Remus manages to fill his book bag and tie on his scarf the common room has almost emptied out. He follows a straggling group of first years bickering over a gobstones set through the portrait hole, to find Lily waiting for him in the corridor as he steps through.

“Here’s your book back, Remus,” she says, holding out the paperback copy of _The Crucible_ he’d lent her.

“What did you think?” he asks, taking the book from her outstretched hand and sliding it into the large pocket of his satchel as they start to walk.

Lily shrugs. “It reminded me a bit of _Paradise Lost_ \- dubious source material conflated with the author’s obvious intent to demonize female sexuality. You're telling me some teenager incited a bunch of girls into second hand murder just 'cause she was chuffed about not getting into some married, old Puritan’s trousers? A little bit reaching, if you ask me."  

Remus laughs. "Agreed. Do you think Tituba was an actual witch?"

"If so she'd be an exemplar case for upholding the Statute of Secrecy," Lily says, both eyebrows raised.   

"True. Though in her defense, 'megalomania-fueled killing spree' as a potential reaction to showing muggles a few simple charms wouldn't have crossed my mind either."  

Lily snorts, sidestepping a trick stair with a graceful hop.

They fall into a companionable silence that lasts until they’ve made it through the front doors and out onto the grounds.

"Hey, how's your mum doing?" Lily inquires after another minute, kicking a clod of snow forward with the toe of her boot as she walks.

"Oh, she's - she's doing fine,” Remus manages, hoping his ears aren’t going red with the fib. His breath furls out in white wisps around his face. “Not terribly better, but hanging in. Her condition waxes and wanes."  

Lily shoots him a look he can’t decipher. "You know you can always sit with Sev and I on the train if you'd like a break from Knobhead Squared over there,” she tells him, nodding toward James and Sirius, a little ways ahead in the line of robe-clad students making their way along the icy path to the Hogsmeade station.

“Well, just me today, most like - Sev is probably going to ditch me for those seventh year Slytherin idiots again," she adds, rolling her eyes. "I don't know what anyone finds so interesting about that bleach-blond, ingrown pubic hair Lucius Malfoy, but whatever."  

“Mhmm,” Remus hedges, watching as Sirius wrestles James into a headlock and attempts to stick his tongue in his ear, James screeching like a costive Mandrake all the while.

He can't help but watch Sirius’ face, flushed with a combination of gleeful triumph and the biting winter air. The sight makes his stomach flip, and not at all unpleasantly.

“Er, I might actually take you up on that today,” he says, now positive of the blush that must be crawling up the back of his neck.

“What on earth do you see in those barmy gits anyhow?” Lily asks after a beat, narrowing her eyes and shaking her head at Sirius and James, who are now waltzing in a stuttering rhythm down the snowy path while Peter traipses behind them, attempting a botched rendition of ‘We Three Kings’ in a high falsetto.

“Oh, they aren't so bad,” Remus replies, unable to stop a grin from breaking out as he contemplates his friends. He isn’t sure how to describe just how much the idiots mean to him; it’s also unlikely he’d be able to do so in a way that would appeal to Lily’s appreciation, in particular. “I mean, I don't blame you for not being their biggest fans, given how much grief James gives you. I have told him to try a lighter hand, by the way, but he's a hard man to dissuade when he - er, when he wants something.”

“Man,” Lily scoffs, her cheeks reddening beneath her freckles. “Double ha. He’s a _boy_. The absolute most annoying boy in a sheer cornucopia of annoying boys,” she grumbles.  

“Yes well, much like all of James’ dance moves, his patented Mating Shuffle leaves a little to be desired,” Remus agrees. “I know he comes across as a bit ridiculous - but he does mean to be. I think a majority of the time he's trying to make you laugh. He isn't serious -”

“Mhmm, well he’s just as bad. And you must admit that sometimes it does seem as if they're fusing into one person.”

Remus snorts, though he feels that odd, old jealousy prickle in his gut at the thought.

“That's true,” he relents. “But I meant that he isn't actually a puffed up, pompous git - he just acts like one, occasionally.”  

Lily turns to him and raises one well-shaped, ginger eyebrow.

Remus snorts again. “Okay, regularly.”

“I fail to see the distinction in any case,” Lily sniffs. She pauses for a beat, eyes dropping back down to her boots. “What about the other times?” she asks haltingly, then bites her lip, as if she hadn’t really wanted to let the words out.

“What?”  

“You said most of the time he's trying to make me laugh - what about the other times?”

“Oh.” He pauses for a beat, considering. “Well I think - I think often times when you really like someone, any sort of attention you can get from them is welcome. He's just trying to get any reaction from you at all, as evidence you know he exists, at the least.” He shrugs. “Not a very sophisticated or evolved relationship-building maneuver, I’ll admit.”

She shoots him another raised eyebrow. “So you're saying the best way to thwart Potter’s advances is not to acknowledge them at all?”

“If you'd like to plunge him - and the rest of us by proxy - into a pit of hopeless, whinging despair, then by all means, give it a go.”

“Hmmm,” Lily says, her eyes focused toward the back of James’ head. “I'll keep that under advisement.”

They walk along quietly for another minute, the air around them filled with laughter and the crunch of snow underfoot.

“It probably wouldn't work anyway,” Lily adds after a beat, her tone oddly light and that pretty pink blush standing out on her cheeks again.  “He's - excessively persistent.”  

Remus smiles. “Yes, well, he's certainly committed.”  

Lily huffs. "He should be committed."  

"Arguable. On the other hand that kind of determination and steadfastness could also be quite positive traits, if directed in a more -"  

She stops him with a level look. "Remus Lupin, if you and I are to remain friends you will not try to ingratiate Potter to me, understood?"  

"Worth a shot." Remus shrugs, grinning. “Oh, bloody hell,” he murmurs, catching sight of the little knot of commotion taking place a dozen yards in front of them, where Sirius and James have stopped just outside the station to perform some sort of two man comedy routine involving the joint transfiguration of James’ knapsack.

They clearly haven't made much progress, as the bag, although fully covered in feathers, stubbornly remains knapsack-shaped. Remus figures they're likely stalling while Peter drums up more of an audience; he can see him at the outskirts of the little circle of first years that has gathered, gesturing expansively and giggling behind the folds of his red and gold striped scarf.

Remus sighs. “I should maybe go and ah, assist with that. I mean, put a stop to it?”

“I feel like that shouldn’t be a question.”

“I feel like I shouldn’t be a Prefect, yet here we are. Christ, what was Professor Dumbledore thinking? He clearly overestimated my ability to censure ruckus. Or if not censure, at least effectively corral.”

“That, or he’s underestimating the extent of your involvement in previous ruckus,” Lily comments pointedly, shooting him a knowing look.  

“I haven’t any idea to what you are referring,” Remus contends with badly feigned innocence. “Alright, I suppose I should at least attempt to intervene.”

“Perhaps you can distract them with something shiny. Like a firework, or a couple of violent curses.”

“Ha bloody ha.”

Lily snorts, but grins back as she moves off toward the platform doors. “Find me on the train after you’ve sorted them out.”

Remus nods, angling his strides toward his ridiculous mates and their throng of admirers.

“Er, James,” he calls, once within earshot. “Has that rucksack done anything to offend you in some way? Anything that might have lead to it deserving such unflattering treatment?”

A smattering of giggles erupts around the circle.

“Moony!” James greets him, grinning effusively. “Kind of you to join us! I was getting tired of carrying the heavy thing, so Padfoot and I thought we'd try our wands at a dash of brilliant aviary transfiguration - figured it could fly the rest of the way there and save me the trouble.”

Remus glances toward the platform, currently about ten paces away through the station doors. He looks back toward James and raises an eyebrow. "Second year lightening charm too much of a match for you?"  

James over-exaggeratedly strikes a palm to his forehead in response. “Merlin, Sirius - why didn't we think of that!”

“I did!” Sirius swears with a fervent nod. “I just didn't want to stunt your creativity! You were doing quite well - look, if you squint a bit it almost definitely resembles Frank’s mum’s favorite _chapeau_. You remember? From her visit to Hogsmeade last term -”

James beams. “That’s exactly what I was thinking of when I cast! Great minds, eh mate? Come to think, if I put the thing on my head it would solve the problem entirely.”

“That does make entirely too much sense.”

“On the count of three, Mr. Black?”

“The count of three it is, Mr. Potter.”

“Three -”

“Two -”

“I’m afraid I have to stop you here, gentlemen,” Remus interrupts them, privately assured that whatever spell they were actually planning to cast had a high likelihood of being more explosive than functional. “C’mon, everyone,” he addresses the gathered group at large, in as firm a tone as he can muster. “If it turns out we’re holding up the train out here I’ll have no choice but to dock a few points. Let’s go - hop to.”

“You could’ve at least let us get to the finale, Moons,” James sighs at him once the gaggle of first years has dispersed.

“I’ve seen plenty of your finales, Prongs - and I’d quite like to have eyebrows when I see my mum later.”

“Blue-balled our performance, is what you did,” Sirius grumbles, tossing the downy knapsack into James’ outstretched hands.

“Sorry to leave you frustrated,” Remus tells him, inwardly praying he doesn’t start to blush.

“I don’t think you mean that,” Sirius sniffs, stowing his wand and rubbing his chill-reddened palms together briskly. “Have I told you lately what a stellar Prefect you make, Lupin?”

Remus narrows his eyes at him. “Why do I feel like that isn't a compliment, coming from you?”

“Because it wasn't?” Sirius answers with a sweet smile.

Remus just rolls his eyes, pushing through the doors and onto the snow-dusted platform. The familiar, shining metal expanse of the Hogwarts Express sits waiting on the tracks, engine already chugging noisily and sending up great plumes of steam into the cold air.

Remus feels his stomach leap in anticipation at the waiting comforts of home; this will be the first time in years that his holiday won’t be interrupted by the appearance of the full moon, and he is looking forward to the few weeks of peace with his mum with a fervor that almost embarrasses him.

Thinking back to the last full moon, which had taken place a week prior, he feels another flip in his stomach, this time of sheer grateful joy. He still can’t quite believe what his friends have managed to do, the amazing lengths they’ve gone to to comfort and protect him. To care for him.

For _him_.

His boundless appreciation is almost enough to make him feel guilty for going through with his plan of seeking Lily out once they’ve boarded the train, but he knows his friends don’t really mind. He knows that they understand his craving for the occasional quiet moment, just as he understands that they are often as incapable of quiet as a herd of aggravated Erumpents.

Sirius does give him an odd look as he waves them off in the corridor, having spotted Lily’s bright head ensconced in a platform toward the front, but that’s pretty par for the course, these days. Remus has given up trying to decipher such looks, as he isn’t sure he’ll like the answer on the off chance he manages it.

All in all, Remus thinks, less time in Sirius’ presence is probably advisable for the time being. Perhaps he’ll use his fortnight of down time to squash his Sirius-centered twitchiness once and for all.

He’d plan on talking to his mum about it, but oddly the prospect of discussing this particular issue with her makes him want to stick his head in the nearest floo.

Lily nods up at him as he enters the compartment. She is sitting crossed-legged on one bench, cloak and mittens off and a book already open in her lap. Remus removes his outer layers and sits across from her, coping both her posture and activity with a sigh of contentment.

The train judders to a start beneath them, the whistle bleating out merrily. Remus opens to where the thin, glowing bookmark charm keeps his place in chapter six of _Here, There and Everywhere: Locational Tracking Spells and Charms,_ and wades happily in.

As the tightly nestled buildings of Hogsmeade give way to the countryside’s rolling white expanses, Lily produces a flask of hot chocolate and transfigures a few spare quills into a set of chunky-bottomed mugs. The air fills with the festive scents of cinnamon and sugar as she pours them full.

Remus smiles at her in thanks, then inhales beatifically and blows on the surface of his drink to rush it’s cooling.

“You aren’t sitting with the girls today?” he asks, noting that there seemed to be exactly enough in the flask for their two servings, nothing more.

He tries not to feel too pleased at having snagged the portion that was likely intended for Severus, but he can’t help it; hot chocolate is his favorite. Severus, less so.

Lily shakes her head, tapping the side of her own mug with the cooling charm that Remus should’ve thought to use. She reaches over and taps the side of his as well.

“They haven’t come - Emmeline went home to spend Hanukkah with her family weeks ago, so she’s staying at Hogwarts this hols. Said she would only be forced to babysit her cousins otherwise, and two of them are at the stage with their magic where they’re accidentally setting fire to everything and vanishing furniture.” Lily smiles. “And Mary stayed with her - apparently her gran has a new boyfriend she’s not too keen on herself. Not sure exactly why, aside from a few choice remarks about a charmed accordion. I think they’ll both be glad for a spot of quiet.”

“Sounds like it.”

“Honestly, I am as well,” she adds, stretching her arms above her head with a little groan. “The weeks before hols are always so chaotic, I’m bloody knackered.”

“Mhmmm,” Remus agrees, thinking of the tiresome exam studying, the harried last minute essay quilling, and the deep exhaustion of holding yourself back from ogling your best mate at every available opportunity. It will be good to get away for a bit.

He thinks forward to curling up into the worn cushion of the window-bench in his childhood bedroom, the soft sounds of his mum singing carols in the kitchen below. Two weeks of comfort without a peep from the moon.

Yes, it will be lovely to be home.

He likely won’t miss anything - or anyone - about Hogwarts at all.

Well, not much.

Barely.

 

\---

 

An hour or so into the journey Lily grabs a change of clothes from her bag and heads off in the direction of the loos.

The door has barely shut behind her when Sirius pops in in a rush, so quickly that Remus suspects he must have been lying in wait somewhere out in the corridor.  

“Er, hello,” Remus greets him, slightly startled.

“Yes, ‘lo,” Sirius responds, distractedly. He’s already divested himself of his school robes and is in the battered leather jacket he’s taken to wearing, the collar crooked up in the back and both sleeves pushed halfway up his wiry forearms.

His eyes dart around the compartment, looking everywhere but at Remus’ face. The energy coming off him is different than his usual wildness, but he’s clearly frenzied all the same.

“Hi. How are you? I mean, how’s the journey treating you thus far?”

Remus eyes him askance. “It’s er - relatively on par with every other train experience I’ve had. And yours?”

Sirius’ frantic energy is more than a little unsettling, and Remus begins to feel a bit suspicious; he wonders if he and James have managed to blow something up in the time since they’ve boarded. He probably should’ve let them get on with it on the platform - at least in the outdoors the radius of chaos would have been more easily contained.

“Oh just - spiffing, really. Totally train-tastic,” Sirius responds exuberantly, still not meeting Remus’ eye. He nods jerkily toward the open volume in Remus’ lap. “I see the ever-present books have made their appearance. And the - the not-currently-present redhead, is she - is she -” He breaks off, expression unreadable.

Remus feels his eyebrows draw together in confusion; what is Sirius trying to get at?

“Is she what? She’s just off to the loo - she’ll likely be back in a minute, if you’ve a question for her.”

Sirius finally meets his eye, the look in his own knowing and pained.

“Listen, Re. You can tell me, you know,” he says, softly.

Remus’ stomach drops to somewhere around the vicinity of his ankles.

“Tell you what?” he asks, voice strained.

“You can tell me, if you’ve a crush,” Sirius continues, and Remus feels all the blood in his body make a beeline for his face.

He mentally berates himself for being so bloody obvious, for being so pathetically transparent that he’s gone and mucked everything up, now that Sirius clearly knows he -

“I mean I sort of understand it,” Sirius is continuing, just audible past the blood pounding in Remus’ ears. “She’s got, you know, nice hair and like, teeth and whatnot - and she definitely seems to share your rather obsessive lust for the written word, I can see how that would be appealing, I suppose. And I don’t want you to think you can’t tell me, I swear I won’t tell James - so if you want to talk it out or whatever I’m like, here. Et cetera,” Sirius finishes in a rush.

Remus’ mortification is replaced by abject confusion so swiftly it leaves him a little nauseated. “What in Salazar’s name are you on about?” he finally manages.

“Lily.”

“You think I’ve a crush on Lily?” Remus stammers, his voice high and tight to his own ears.

“Well, yeah?”

“Lily Evans?”

“Of cour - do we know any other Lilys?”

Remus stares at him. “Yes, four.”

“Nevermind that - and why are you looking at me like I’ve started squawking like a bloody Hippogriff?” Sirius huffs, crossing his arms over his chest and going even more pinched about the face. “I’m only trying to say that you can trust me with your feelings. I’m not saying that it isn’t complicated, but I don’t want you to feeling like you need to hide anything from me just because - sharing is caring, and all that -”

Remus just stares at him for a beat, agog, before blurting, a bit loudly, “Obviously I don’t like Lily!”

Sirius blinks at him. “Pardon?”

“Well of course I like her - she’s brilliant,” Remus tries to explain. “But I don’t want to - it’s strictly - I don’t like like her, not in a - I suppose her hair is nice, but -” He sighs in frustration at himself, wishing fervently for a time turner, his apparition licence, a swift loss of consciousness - anything that could extract him from this conversation.

He finally grits out, “I harbor nothing but platonic affection and admiration for Lily Evans, alright? Can we please shut up about this, I feel as if I’m developing a spontaneous ulcer.”

Sirius blinks at him some more. “You don’t like Lily?”

“I’ve just said that.”

“You aren’t romantically or sexually interested in -”

“Stop!” Remus snaps, lightheaded with an uneasy mix of relief and embarrassment. “Good grief, I need either a pound of chocolate or nice, thorough Obliviate - Merlin fuck. No, I do not have a crush on Lily. End of discussion. Discussion over. We will finish discussing this posthaste.”

Sirius’ face abruptly loses its pinched look. Something about it’s sudden softness sets Remus’ stomach to doing backflips.

“Oh, well - that’s excellent!” Sirius says, words all coming out at a volume not quite suitable to an intimate conversation in close quarters. He pauses, and Remus could swear the tips of his ears have gone red. “I mean,” he rushes on, “‘cause of James, obviously. Wouldn’t want some bird to put you at odds. Too many cooks and all that… sort of… business.”

They look at each other, an odd sort of tension billowing between them.

Remus’ breath catches with it and he racks his brain for something, anything to say to fill this sudden, weighted silence. Something neutral, something not-stupid, something that doesn’t have anything to do with Sirius lips, and the way they look, parting slightly as he -

“Remus,” Sirius says, a quiet tremor in his voice, his gaze dropping down toward Remus’ own mouth.

Except that can’t be right, Remus must be imagining it. Just as he must be imagining the way the air between them has gone as thick and sweet as treacle; the way his heart seems to have stopped.

Then the door swings open and the bubble pops.

The two of them whip their heads around, to find Snape sneering in at them with his usual sour look. The strained sweetness of the previous moment dissipates instantly.

Remus greets the interruption with a strange mixture of relief and irritation. “Oh hello, Severus. Are you looking for Lily?”

“Mhmm,” Snape grunts, not taking his eyes away from Sirius, who is glaring at him with a malevolence that makes Remus blink.

He thinks that Snape should be grateful Sirius is still unversed in wandless magic, as he would likely have sprouted something unpleasant in several inconvenient places, otherwise.

Remus rolls his eyes at the pair of them. “She’s changing out of her robes I think - she’ll be back in a second, likely.”

Snape nods curtly and stalks back out into the corridor, slamming the compartment door behind him as he goes.

“What a warm and cheery atmosphere betwixt you two - had me feeling quite festive there for a minute,” Remus says, hoping to cover the oddness of their earlier exchange.

“Hmmm?” Sirius mumbles, still staring daggers at the door. It’s obvious Snape’s appearance has distracted him completely; Remus isn’t sure if he is entirely grateful for it.

He pokes Sirius hard in the side. “I will truly never understand the nature of this feud - you lot act as if you hail from fair Verona, for Merlin’s sake. I keep waiting for one of you to produce a rapier and commence with the indiscriminate stabbing.”

“And I will never understand why you don’t hop on board!” Sirius replies, finally turning back toward him. “You’re supposed to hate everything we hate and like everything we like - that’s what friendship is about!”

“No it isn’t,” Remus sighs.

“What else?”

“It’s about liking _you,_ even when you are being an irrationally hateful fuckwit.”

Sirius smiles sweetly. “Awe, Re, you like me?”

Remus rolls his eyes. “Of course that’s the only bit you actually registered. You know I like you,” he relents, feeling his cheeks heat again and fixing his gaze on the passing scenery, rather than meeting Sirius’ eye. “You’re my best mate.”

“Yes, well, likewise. Even when you insist on remaining obstinately polite to every loathsome, slimy git in your vicinity.”

Remus tries and fails not to squirm in his seat. “My apologies for having manners.”

“Appreciated. It is very trying. I hardly know how to put up with you,” Sirius says, but he’s beaming now, eyes crinkling. “Manners aside, you must admit that Snape is a world-class piece of shite.”

“I’ll admit Severus does exude the disposition of a sentient bogey, even on his best day - but there is such a thing as being the bigger person.”

“As if that's difficult! I wouldn't need two inches on a garden gnome to be a bigger man than that greasy, bigoted twit.”

Remus snorts.

“Are you picturing it?” Sirius grins, sharp and devastating. “A teeny, wee me? I'd be terribly cute I think - would you put me in your pocket and carry me about?”

“I have more than enough to heft around, thank you,” Remus says, gesturing to his satchel full of books. “What if we made a tiny saddle for a Kneazle or something - you could train it to transport you hither and thither at your whim.”

“What a charming image. The Kneazle’s meow, if you will.” Sirius frowns. “I'm quite put out that's not going to happen, actually.”

“Mhmm, on the plus side it's probably very difficult for gnome-sized persons to find trousers that fit. Not worth the bother, likely.”

Sirius smiles wide. There’s something in the curve of it. Something distracting, something that pulls at Remus’ eye.

Something that makes him want to jump out of this train car into a passing snowdrift.

“I wish you were coming to the Potter’s for hols,” Sirius sighs wistfully.

Remus’ heart gives a thump. He reconsiders the snowdrift. “Oh?”

“Well, yeah - it’s Christmas!” Sirius exclaims. “Christmas is for togetherness! It is for taking everything and one you love, sticking them all in a big red bag, and like, dragging it around behind you while chortling merrily. That was it, right?”

Remus can’t help but laugh. “Not quite. Why is the Father Christmas thing so difficult for you to grasp?”

“Oh, like it’s so easy to understand? Some fat old gent judgmentally but benevolently distributing gifts to the entire world in one twenty-four hour period? With a crowd of deer that somehow aid in transportation? Absolutely barmy, muggles are - I love them.”

“It is a tad odd, the chimney bit especially,” Remus relents. “Though, actually -  do you think some sozzled wizard was just trying to use the floo one night and kept accidentally popping into Muggles’ flats?”

Sirius barks a laugh. “Then in a fit of guilt over getting soot on the carpet he conjured them a few little treats as an apology? And the next morning the muggles were all whoa, that is so on, let’s put his face all over everything and sing songs about him? Totally brill - I think you might be onto something, Moons.”

He pauses to yawn, slumping down further in the seat and laying his head on Remus’ shoulder. “Do you think we could get James to transform and then pull us about in a sled?”

Remus tries not to flinch; he tries not lean too obviously into the touch.

“Unlikely,” he says, trying to focus on the conversation and not the soft press of Sirius’ thigh against his own. “Besides, it’s supposed to be Reindeer.”

Sirius waves a lazy hand. “Yes, well, we’ll just put some reigns on him then. We’ll likely have to do that anyhow, else the pulling bit will be a spot problematic.”

“No it’s - it’s an entirely different species, I reckon. James is just, you know, a regular sort of deer. Standard issue Cervidae, or something.”

“I’m going to tell him you said that - you know how much he likes to feel special.” Sirius shifts, moving his head away so that he can look up into Remus’ face. “So what are Remus Lupin’s grand plans for his holiday? Something adventurous?”

“Oh, most assuredly,” Remus answers. “Do you think you’re quite ready to hear? This may shock you.”

“Oh dear, give me a chance to prepare myself.” Sirius takes a dramatic breath. “Okay, go on.”

“Well, it is possible that I might, perhaps, attempt to read a book and drink tea,” Remus lowers his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, “at the same time.”

“You right daring bastard.”

“What can I say, I live on the knife’s edge. It’s a butter knife, but still. Right on it.”

Sirius fizzes with laughter, face dopey and fond, staring up at him, and Remus likes the little errant curl stuck out at a silly angle from behind Sirius’ ear, a tiny brown wing of hair - actively _likes_ it, wants to keep looking at it, and looking at it, and maybe even touch a finger to it, lightly.

Fucking hell. He’s fucked.

They fall into silence again, more comfortable than the last, though still somehow odd, new. Sirius leans back into him again, bony shoulder to bony shoulder, and this time Remus can’t help but press back.

Sirius has always been generous with his casual touches, incessantly poking or petting at James, Peter and Remus in turn - his fidgety limbs constantly reaching out to them with pinches and hugs.

Remus has all sorts of theories as to why that is, most tied to the fact that so far as he can tell from Sirius’ childhood reminiscences his most nurturing familial relationship was with a talking painting - and even at its most animated it’s not as if canvas is capable of much by way of physical affection, at least of the reciprocal kind.

And now Remus is thinking about kid Sirius actually hugging some dusty, antique portrait, and he’s going to have to stop thinking about that this very second, before he starts weeping and Sirius asks him what’s the matter.

He doesn’t want Sirius to ask him what’s the matter. He doesn’t want Sirius to move away from his current position, tucked warm and close against him. He doesn’t want either of them to move ever again.

“Are you going to think any more about the map idea over the holiday?” Sirius asks, breaking the quiet.

“Why do you think I brought all these?” Remus asks, kicking his toe lightly against the bulging knapsack at his feet, the stack of books inside giving a dull thump.

“Wicked.” Sirius grins. “I really think we could -”

He’s cut off by the door clicking open again, admitting Lily, now wearing a pair of light blue, bell bottom jeans and an oversized knit sweater.

“Wotcher, Evans,” Sirius greets her, in a more polite tone than Remus has heard him address her in some time. “Don’t mind me - just came by for a quick cuddle. Come say bye once we get to London, eh Moons?” He jumps up and slides past her out the door.

Remus hates himself for the way his heart dips at the loss of Sirius’ weight against his arm; he can feel his cheeks heating in response and he busies himself with reopening his book.

When he glances back up a moment later he finds Lily staring at him with a worryingly knowing look in her eyes.

After a beat she says, in a slightly wondering tone, “So that’s what you get out of it.”

He blinks at her. “Er, what?”

She raises both eyebrows and nods her head toward the now-closed door.

Remus’ wame promptly shrivels up tight in panic again.

“Oh good grief - please don’t,” he scrambles. “Please don’t say anything. It’s bad enough -”

Lily waves a placating hand at him, dropping back down into her seat.

“Don’t fret, we don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” she says in a gentle voice. She leans forward and pats his knee, the deep burgundy of her nail polish stark against the somber plaid of his trousers. “But I can’t say I think overmuch of your taste.”

Remus opens his mouth to reply, but no words come out.

“Although.” She stares absently at the closed door and shrugs. “He does have rather pretty hair, if you like that sort of thing. Which you clearly do,” she adds, in poor sotto voce.  

Remus’ head feels as if it’s about to burst into flame - a circumstance he would vastly prefer to continuing this particular vein of conversation.

“That isn’t not talking about it,” he points out in a strangled voice. “What is it, Accost Remus About His Possible Infatuations Day? Am I looking particularly lovelorn and pathetic? Is my fringe doing something strange?”

Lily ignores him, tilting her head to the side the way she often does while pondering their more difficult Potions homework. “Do you think it’s just you? He did look awfully cozy all tucked up -”

Remus squeezes his eyes shut tight. “Stop - fucking stop please. I’m not above begging you.”

“Alright, alright. I’m just saying, it wouldn’t be surprising, exactly - given how he’s always -”

Remus tugs the collar of his school sweater up over his head like some sort of agitated, woolly turtle. “ _Lily_ ,” he pleads, his voice muffled by the thick weave.

“Yes, alright, you needn’t have a sulk about it,” he hears her sigh. “Crushes are rarely fatal, you know.”

She pokes a cold fingertip against the bit of his belly exposed by the rucked-up jumper, making him yelp and drop it back into place.

They sit in a merciful silence for a few moments after that, Remus trying and failing to distract himself with the next paragraph of his book.

The thing is, Remus knows Sirius is gay. He’s pretty sure everyone in the castle is privy to that knowledge, at this point; Sirius isn’t what one would call circumspect in discussing any of his personal matters, and he certainly isn’t one for hiding.

But even with that hurdle leapt, Remus knows there’s a huge difference between Sirius being interested in boys in general and Sirius being interested in -

Well, it’s unlikely his fixation is reciprocated, at any rate. Why would it be?

Sirius is a whirling, chaotic burst of beautiful energy, like a bright spark of spellwork in a dark room. Remus is just - Remus. Dull and peevish and probably a little bit too obsessed with books, if he’s being honest with himself. He’s lucky enough to have Sirius the way he does now, and he knows it.

This extra fondness, this swirling chaotic whatever it is that makes Remus’ chest feel near to bursting with an aching sweetness - he’ll just have to ignore it. Shove it aside, or hope it goes away on its own.

As Lily said, it’s unlikely to be fatal.

The painful thumping of his heart seems to belie this notion, which only makes Remus feel as if he’s leaning toward Marianne Dashwood levels of melodrama.

Besides, he has quite enough to deal with on the chronic affliction front, thank you very much. In comparison to the lycanthropy, unrequited passion will likely be easy to circumvent.

Probably.

He’s resolved to give it a go, one way or another.

His cheeks are still cooling when Sirius sticks his head back in ten minutes later, looking slightly frazzled, more curling tendrils of hair escaping from his stubby ponytail and forming a frizzy nimbus around his head.

Remus figures he should probably stop noting things like that, if he’s to be at all successful with his plan.

“Any chance either of you has a spare Bezoar lying around?” Sirius asks them, smiling but with a familiar and manic sort of gleam in his eyes that bodes all manner of ill. He looks at each of their blank faces in turn. “No? No? Oh well, he’ll likely recover on his own! Breathing isn’t always entirely essential, now is it? Nothing to worry too much about, no, no. Thanks anyway, I’ll just be off to er, check -”

“Sirius!” Remus calls after him, but he’s already rushed off out of sight. Remus squeezes the bridge of his nose between two fingers. “Godric’s saggy nadgers, what -”

The door clatters back open abruptly.

“Oops, almost forgot!” Sirius leans in once more and tosses a large bar of chocolate onto Remus’ lap. The wrapper crinkles at it hits his thighs. “Got you the last one on the cart - that really dark stuff only you like, which is probably why it was the only thing left. Anyway - ta! And just to recap, nothing remotely horrible or life-threatening is happening four compartments down. And it absolutely wasn’t only my fault. See you!” He darts back out.

Remus blinks at the door then down at the candy in his lap. It’s his favorite.

He risks a glance over at Lily and finds her attempting to hide an expression perilously close to a smirk in the stretched-out collar of her jumper.

Remus ignores her.  

“Who do you think they’ve poisoned?” she asks through a yawn, sounding fully unbothered by the prospect.

“Peter, most likely,” Remus sighs. He picks up the chocolate and tucks it - as nonchalantly as he can with the wrapper crinkling away merrily and his cheeks the color of beetroot - into the front pocket of his satchel.

He hears Lily giggle.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” he warns her.  

“I didn’t say anything!” She slides down to lie on her stomach across the bench, book open in front of her and elbows propped up to either side. She yawns again. “It’s a wonder he hasn’t built up a general immunity by now.”

“He likely has.” Remus groans. “D’you think I should go discipline them?”

Lily flips a pale hand at him. “Eh, it’s Christmas - let them have their fun. Besides, I think you Prefects are technically off the clock once we leave Hogsmeade.”

“According to the rule book we are ‘responsible for assisting with the maintenance of order for the full duration of all mass transit excursions, including but not limited to carriages, trains, and both living and non-living watercraft’,” he recites from memory, brow furrowed as he contemplates the implications of the last bit.  

Lily regards him quietly for a beat, then lets her mouth tilt up into a true smirk, not even bothering to hide it this time. “Who would have thought, Sirius Black fancying such a complete swot as you?”

Remus groans again. “You shut it, or I’ll tell James about your weakness for Romantic era poets. I don’t know about you, but I wouldn’t be too keen to hear him butchering Byron in front of the entire bloody great hall,” he huffs. “There’d likely be costumes too, mind. Not to mention all the interpretive dance.”

Lily gives a dramatic shudder. “A truly horrifying prospect - threat acknowledged,” she assures him archly, though Remus can see that the tip of her nose has gone pink. She looks away from him, her gaze landing somewhere out the window, where the landscape now passes by in a craggy, snow-capped slide.

He regards her for a moment, wondering.

“Do erm, you want to talk about it?” he asks.

The color in her cheeks rises, but she glares at him gamely, holding up two well-manicured fingers. She ticks them off as she says, in a low, dangerous voice, “One, wizards in glass houses should not go around casting aspersions - and two, I will quite literally hex your bollocks off.”

Remus hoists his book hastily, hiding his face behind it’s faded cover. “Quite right,” he stammers, crossing his legs for good measure.

They are interrupted yet again, this time by a polite knock.

Remus looks over to find James peering in, eyes already fixed on Lily and a grin already fixed on his face. Remus waves him in.

James opens the door and leans his lanky frame against the jamb in a studiously casual way, the shiny material of his red track jacket gleaming in contrast with the well-worn wood. His dark skin is also shining under a faint gleam of perspiration, indicating to Remus that whatever hi-jinks Sirius has contrived features James’ involvement as well.

Though entertaining the notion of any other scenario being true is sheer idiocy, of course.

“Hello, you two!” James tosses his long, unruly fringe out of his eyes and says brightly, “I have an inquiry, purely academic, to pose to you about sea burials, and whether would you agree that perhaps the same sort of principle would apply to ceremonials taking place on trains? Heaving the body overboard and such, perhaps a lively shanty or two dedicated to the dearly departed?”

Suddenly Peter’s high-pitched bellow reaches them from the corridor, “FOR THE LAST TIME I AM NOT DEAD! STOP TRYING TO SWADDLE ME!”

Then Sirius’ voice, slightly exasperated, “‘Shroud.’ It’s called a shroud, Wormtail. I am ‘shrouding’ you - or I would be if you’d stop wriggling about. I was given to believe that deceased persons were typically more complacent -”

“SIRI-mphgggg!”

“There, now lie still before you alarm the hired mourners.”

James beams and shoots a glance down the hallway. “It sounds as if the festivities are about to begin!” He coughs, looking shifty. “Figurative - figurative festivities. If there were really a funeral about to commence I’d hardly let the opportunity pass by without asking the lovely Ms. Evans to be my escort, now would I?”

He winks at Lily, who sneers halfheartedly.

“The ideal date for any occasion, she is,” James continues undeterred. “Her rosy, flawless complexion would no doubt brighten even the most morbid of -”

“REMUS! REMUS, HELP!”

James winces slightly at the noise before turning his unruffled gaze to Remus. “Moony, I think Peter might be asking for you.”

Remus raises an eyebrow. “Oh, indeed?”

James shrugs. “Yes, I do recall him saying something about Potions notes.”

“REMUS, PLEASE! HE’S CURSED MY FUCKING FACE!”

“I don’t think it was urgent.”

A few seconds later Sirius darts by their compartment, screeching. He grabs the back of James’ jacket as he passes, tugging him bodily out after him, the compartment door slamming shut in their wake.

Peter hops jerkily a few paces behind, his legs still wrapped tightly in what Remus suspects are likely his own robes, and his face spelled a sickly, lurid green that does nothing to mask his abject fury.

“GET BACK HERE, YOU FANCY-HAIRED PILLOCK!” he roars.

“James, you heard the man! Go on!” They hear Sirius shout.

Then James. “He’s clearly talking about you! I can’t even do a ponytail! Besides, you’re the one who used his gobstones set as a - AUGHHH!”

There is the resounding thump of three bodies hitting the floor, and the carriage vibrates under Remus’ feet.

Lily turns her head toward him, looking weary. “They are such complete and utter tits,” she groans.

Remus closes his eyes and tips his head back against the seat cushion. “I know,” he sighs.  

“We’re doomed,” she continues, under her breath.  

“I know.”

He opens his eyes and reaches into his bag for the chocolate bar. He unwraps it and breaks it in two, offering the other half to Lily.

She takes it, giving him a commiserating grimace in exchange.

“They should’ve just used a Body Bind,” she mumbles past a mouthful.  

“Clearly,” Remus agrees. “And that Colovaria wasn’t quite right. Too -”

“Green, yes. If they were aiming for a convincing pallor they should’ve used -” Lily cuts herself off.

The two of them share a speaking look before turning their attention back to their books.

They munch in a shared silence for the remainder of the ride.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OOOOO somebody has a cru-ushhhhhh (except it’s two somebodys obvi) WHAT COULD POSSIBLY HAPPEN NEXT???  
> Teenage betrayal followed by emotional constipation, duh!!! 
> 
> OK so I know that Lucius Malfoy would have already graduated in canon as of 1975 but I really wanted Lily to get to insult him so LET ME LIVE, GUYS. 
> 
> Also in terms of timeline, this scene takes place before the James-bullying-Snape/Snape-calling-Lily-a-Mudblood incident – from the books all we get is that it happened sometime in fifth year, so I decided it'll happen sometime in Spring term instead of this one. I was not yet ready for The Angst, tbh. 
> 
> Also ALSO, Lily and Remus for Soft and Snarky Nerd Pals 5evr. They absolutely gift each other fuzzy sweaters and rare, antique books on later Christmases, 100%. 
> 
> ALSOOO it always bugs me in fics when Lily is shown to be exclusively friends with dudes (Snape, then later the Marauders) ((this bugs me about Hermione in fic and canon too, tbh)) so I wanted to make sure I squeezed in at least a mention of some of the other gals - they’ll also be making an appearance in later chapters too. 
> 
> Thank you for reading! <3


	3. Remus Lupin v. The Highland Fling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The alternate title for this chapter is: Teen Angst - The ‘Let’s Get High and Pretend We Aren’t In Love’ Remix

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For this chapter please be advised of recreational marijuana use, non-consensual dancing, and graphic description of PDP (Private Displays of Pining). 
> 
> Also be advised of allusion to off-screen, minor character death (Remus’ mother). 
> 
> ALSO just FYI this chapter does include mention of both Remus and Sirius dating people (people that are not each other) BUT fear not R/S is the obvious end game, and there will be no tragic breakups or cheating or drama of that nature. I mean, obviously they are dramatic about it, they’re seventeen and in love - but you know what I mean, nothing gratuitous. 
> 
> And so we begin the slow slide into The Angst! Gird thy loins, pals.

**December 21st, 1977**

* * *

 

Remus jogs quickly up to their bed chamber after he and Sirius get back from a late-night raid of the kitchens. His belly is too tight and full of cottage pie and chocolate biscuits, and his mind is brimming over with a jangle of nerves about the looming moon. He needs to take the weight out of everything, to lighten up his limbs.

He kneels down and rummages through his trunk at the foot of his four-poster, fishing for the box he keeps their grass in. 

The room is quiet about him - James’ and Peter’s beds left empty, their curtains gaping open and the elf-tidied sheets cold and lifeless. The entire Gryffindor dorm is quiet tonight; he and Sirius are the only two students of their house remaining at Hogwarts for the Christmas holiday, this year. 

James was invited to stay with Lily’s family now that they’re officially an item, and James’ parents had taken the opportunity to schedule a mini-break in warmer climes. They’d invited Sirius to accompany them even so, but he’d opted to spend their last Christmas as students at the castle, citing premature nostalgia that Remus is sure is only partly feigned. 

Peter is in Greece on a trip with his family, staying at a resort on the coast and likely getting sunburnt for his trouble. 

And Remus - well, he didn’t really have anywhere else to go, now that him mum - 

He cuts the thought off, tucking the ends of his grief in tight to stop the whole thing unfurling. He’s gotten better at containing it over the last year, but there’s a good chance Sirius will still be able to read it on his face. 

It wasn’t difficult to guess the real reason Sirius had decided to stay behind for the break. Remus’ gratitude is so acute it’s almost painful. 

Thinking of him, Remus glances over toward Sirius’ four poster, at his sheets still disheveled from his earlier, fruitless attempt at sleep. Remus’ own sheets are tousled from where his earlier, successful attempt at sleep was forcibly interrupted by Sirius’ raging boredom. 

There’s still a divot in Sirius’ pillow where his head had lain, and Remus is suddenly consumed with the strange, embarrassing urge to go over and press his own face into it. 

He doesn’t. 

Instead he finishes locating the box, pushing a stack of folded jumpers aside to lift it free from his trunk. 

"You know what this night needs?” Sirius’ muffled yell reaches him from the common room below.

“What?” he calls back, spelling the lock on his trunk closed before descending the stairs two at a time in his stocking feet, the wooden box tucked under one arm. 

“A little festive tunage, liven this joint up a bit," Sirius answers, his back turned as he drops a record onto the turntable Lily had charmed for him. 

“Speaking of lively joints.” Remus holds up his parcel and shakes it lightly, the contents giving a promising rattle. 

“Wotcher.” Sirius shoots him a wide grin. He crouches and prods at the record player with his wand, which then starts to blare his latest obsession - some muggle music that isn't so much music as a bunch of tone-deaf gentlemen screaming their bloody heads off. 

Admittedly there could be a few women in the mix as well, Remus muses, but it’s difficult to decipher anything of that mess of noise.  

Remus shakes his head and pulls out his own wand, flicking it in the direction of the turntable so that the volume drops to a more comfortable level. 

"That is atrocious,” he comments, shaking his head, “and not even remotely festive."   

"If you don't like it then why are you dancing?" Sirius turns toward him with another quick smile, and that’s all the warning Remus gets. 

He drops the box as he jolts forward into the middle of the room and his feet begin to stomp about entirely of their own volition – or rather of Sirius' volition, who is now grinning like a chimp and pointing his wand in the general vicinity of Remus' madly kicking feet.  

"Sirius!" Remus shouts over the music, trying and failing to stop his toes from tapping vigorously across the carpet with the rest of him in tow.  

"What?" Sirius beams.  

"How did you – why on earth have you been using this spell with enough regularity that you can cast it wordlessly?" 

Sirius wiggles his eyebrows. "Ah, but you never know when you will need to inspire  _ la passion de la danse _ -"   

"Not so much inspire as inflict - all this hip thrusting is going to put me out of joint! For fuck’s - please, Sirius -"  

"Oh, all right." Sirius flicks his wand tip lazily, still grinning.   

"For the love of – Merlin – yes the – Highland Fling is a – much less – exhausting – alternative – thank you. Fuck! Sirius!"  

"Moony where is your sense of patriotism!  _ Alba gu brath, _ et cetera!" 

"I'm -  getting – out of – breath!"  

"Nonsense, you're fit as a fiddle. Speaking of - " 

Suddenly the music ratchets up in both pace and decibel.  

"SIRIUS! PLEASE!" 

_"_ Oh, go on. There, the jig is up. Ha! Get it? 'Cause I just stopped you from doing that very smart looking jig, if I do say – Oof!"  

"See I can – cast some things – wordlessly – too," Remus huffs between deep, rattling breaths, collapsing on the carpet on his back next to Sirius, who has gone down clutching his stomach and wheezing from the force of Remus' punch. 

"Didn't need my - wand – even. Fucking fuck," Remus pants, pressing a hand to stitch in his side.

Sirius gurgles something incomprehensible, face gone the color of a beetroot. 

Remus allows himself a few minutes to catch his breath, then rolls over and reaches for the dropped box under the sofa. He props himself up on his elbows and sets about rolling a fat joint, using the cover of a Transfiguration textbook some forgetful first year had left on a nearby armchair as a surface. 

The record has run its course, the needle bumping in rhythmic, muffled pops in the sudden silence. Neither of them get up to stall its useless spinning. 

Sirius turns on his side to watch him, still breathing heavily. 

“How did you get to be the best at that, by the way?” he asks. 

“Must be my natural dexterity,” Remus mumbles around the butt before lighting the end with the tip of his wand and taking a drag. He holds the breath in for a beat, relishing the scratch of the smoke in his throat, the tickling pain of it, before letting it out through pursed lips. “Or some strangely fortuitous side effect of the furry little problem, perhaps - one of life’s silver linings. Sure he grapples with the occasional bout of hairy, murderous rampage, but he also rolls a neat zoot.”

Sirius snorts, his eyes on Remus’ mouth. 

The moment hangs between them, some invisible chord of tension gone suddenly slack. Remus feels his pulse speed back up of its own accord. 

The quiet of the dormitory around them seems to intensify, and Remus becomes hyper aware of the two of them, alone. It’s something he’s been trying to ignore, with very minimal success, since the others had left on yesterday’s train. 

They pass the joint back and forth between them a few times, silent except for their smokey exhalations. The fourth time their fingers brush Remus swears he can feel it in the backs of his knees. 

He scans his fuzzy brain for a safe topic of conversation to distract himself, and comes up with nothing. 

Luckily Sirius doesn’t seem to have the same problem. “Now, it being our last Christmas here,” he begins, “what say you to indulging in a bit more festivity, eh? I think we owe it to the castle to be as absolutely merry as physically possible - as Father Christmas intended.” 

Sirius rolls onto his back, lifting his hips a bit so he can reach into the pockets of his dungarees. He pulls out a silver flask first, then rummages deeper, struggling a bit. 

Remus closes his eyes to stop himself staring at the bare slash of pale-brown skin above Sirius’ waistband, the dark trail of hair - 

“What’s that mad codger doing up there?” Sirius mutters under his breath, distracting Remus from his straying thoughts. The faint rustle of parchment accompanies his words, and Remus opens his eyes to see Sirius holding the map a few inches above his face. 

“Who? Up where?”

“Filch,” Sirius explains, tilting his arms so that Remus can see the dot in question, moving agitatedly around one corner of the map. “He’s been up the Astronomy Tower for at least two hours. I checked before we went down to the kitchens to make sure we’d be clear of him, and he’s still there now.” 

“Hmmm.” Remus takes another toke, then exhales. The smoke hangs in a white-blue haze above his head. “Is Peeves nearby?” he asks, finding it strenuous to make his lips form the words. 

“Near Filch?” Sirius brings the parchment closer to his face, his eyebrows knitted together. “Oh - yes, look. He’s bumping around the tower stairwell.” 

Remus sighs, and even that feels sluggish, stilted to his own ears. “That’s likely my fault, then. The common uses of catnip oil may have come up in a conversation I had with him yesterday.” 

“When were you conversing with Peeves? Have a weekly tea chat with a poltergeist, do you?” Sirius abandons the map in favor of the flask, unscrewing the top and propping himself up on one elbow to take a long pull. When he speaks again the spicy warmth of Firewhiskey ghosts over Remus’ face. “That’s sort of a lovely mental image, actually. Of course, I’m picturing you at Madam Puddifoot’s while you do it.” 

Remus snorts and takes the flask from him. “He caught me in Slughorn’s ingredients cupboard after hours - it was the only thing I could think to buy his silence. May also have thrown him a vial or two, Sluggy had a few extra at hand. He’s likely got Mrs. Norris stuck up a parapet or something.”

Remus takes a sip, the whiskey blood-hot from close contact with Sirius’ body. He swallows, his stomach warming with something he’s sure has little to do with the alcohol. 

Sirius grins at him, at once a too quick and too slow flash of white teeth. “You were filching from the potions stores? You dirty thief, you.”

“Lily and I needed a few extra bezoars in case our experiment doesn’t pan out the way we’re hoping.” 

“What experiment?” Sirius asks, wrestling his whiskey back from Remus’ grip with little trouble. 

“If I tell you I’ll have to kill you - Lily made me take an oath, and knowing her it likely had some nifty jinxwork attached.”

  
“From the sounds of it you should just make me your test subject - kill two dogs with one possibly poisonous potion.”

“What makes you think that isn’t the plan already?” Remus jests, nodding toward the flask pressed to Sirius’ lips. 

Sirius pauses to stare down at the flask dubiously, then pat himself all over as if checking to make sure all his bits are still in the proper places. 

Remus giggles and rolls back to face the ceiling. 

Sirius flicks his ear. “You know I’m starting to think that Dumbledore made you a Prefect in fifth year not in the hopes you’d keep us in check, but because he realized that you were the task master behind the whole operation and wanted to throw you off your game with the added responsibilities.”

Remus grins, realizing as he does that his eyes have drifted shut again. “Nah, I think he just felt sorry for me - maybe he thought a shiny badge and the ability to routinely scold my peers for improper dress code would lighten the reality of being a lycanthropic, sexually confused teenager with bad hair,” he sighs. “Strangely enough it was a decent distraction for at least a few minutes a day. The badge especially.”

Sirius yawns and Remus can hear the smile in it. “You don’t have bad hair.”

“I was at cross-purposes with my fringe that year. I think we’ve since come to a consensus.” 

“Mhmm. Well, regardless of his intent it worked - our prank success percentage took a real hit while you were being relatively civic-minded. Thank Merlin he made James Head Boy instead of you - Prongs has been pants at scheming ever since he got with Lily anyhow, too distracted being all ‘happy’ and ‘in love’ to be at all helpful with our feats of mischief and mayhem,” Sirius laments, adding lazy air quotes for emphasis. 

Remus stretches his arms over head, the vertebrae in his neck giving an audible pop in a way that is both relieving and concerning at once. His body is feeling pleasantly soupy; he’s almost surprised his spine hasn’t dissolved altogether. 

“Luckily we aren’t similarly happy or in love, otherwise we’d lose our reputation for ruckus altogether,” he observes. 

Sirius yawns again. “A truly terrifying thought.” 

The air between them buzzes again with all things said and unsaid. Or felt and unfelt - Remus has never been sure, and has always been too afraid to ask. Just now he’s too high to do more than feel his own pulse, pounding pleasantly in every corner of his body, right out to the ends of his hair. 

“I can’t believe James and Pete abandoned us on our last _Noël_ in favor of tits and sun,” Sirius grouses beside him.  

“If Lily heard you reducing her thus, she’d pound you.” 

“‘Tits’ was in reference to Peter - raging horndog, that one. The lovely women of Mykonos likely have their hands full tonight. Or he does.” 

“Somehow I don’t buy ‘sun’ as your descriptor for Cokeworth,” Remus contests. 

“Lily made it sound very exotic from what she said. Besides, anywhere in England is likely tropical in comparison to Scotland - fucking arctic up here all the bloody time.” Sirius shivers exaggeratedly against the carpet. 

“Wuss,” Remus teases him, but reaches for his wand to cast a warming charm over him anyway. 

“Can’t help it if I inherited a sensitivity to frozen nadgers! It’s genetic - and I’d much rather that than the tragically receding hairlines or deep devotion to racism.” 

Remus smiles at him, the movement causing the new scar that crosses over the right side of his lips to tug uncomfortably - his souvenir from the previous month’s moon. 

Sirius grins too, then sighs. “Anyway, I wish we were all together.” 

“Me too,” Remus sighs back, the breath he lets out feeling heavier than his head.  

Sirius holds his hand out for the joint. He pauses for a beat, palm suspended over his mouth. “Are you nervous about the -” 

“Of course I am. When am I not,” Remus cuts him off, and it isn’t a question.  

Sirius frowns slightly and finally takes a drag. “It worked with just the two of us last year, that time when Peter and James were both stuck in the hospital wing.”

Remus doesn’t point out that that was before, but he doubts Sirius needs him to. It’s not about that anymore, regardless. 

He shrugs. “I just feel safer when it’s the three of you versus, well, me.” 

“It’s very rarely 'versus' anyway, just so you know – you are very composed these days. Just want to frolic about and piss on everything.” 

Remus snorts, though he doubts that’s an accurate depiction. 

They’re quiet for a minute or two, listening to the crackle of the fire in the grate, the hiss of the snow-laden gusts of wind past the window panes. Remus knows that not long ago Sirius would have made some quip about Remus not wanting to be alone with him, and wonders if this odd, gentle tension is what’s holding Sirius’ tongue - the way it’s stopping Remus from pointing out that the opposite is in fact true. 

Remus swallows around a sudden lump in his throat. Something about the quiet comfort of the room - the feeling that he and Sirius are the last two people left in the castle, if not the world - allows him the nerve to ask, softly, “What am I like?” 

Sirius is silent for another minute, looking into Remus’ face. There’s a wrinkle between his brows that Remus wants to smooth away with his thumb. He takes another toke, exhales, then says, “Sometimes you look at me and I can see you in the eyes. Other times, it's just – it's just the wolf.” 

Remus closes his eyes, unsurprised by this information, and yet. 

“Does it scare you?” he asks, in a whisper. 

“Sometimes,” Sirius replies, honest and without hesitation. “But I’m mostly scared for you, not of you.”

Remus swallows again, the knot in his throat twisting painfully and the cloud in his head dissipating a regretful amount. 

“You know that isn’t true, don’t you?” he manages, haltingly, but insistent. “There’s no difference - the wolf. It’s all, it’s all me. I’m responsible.” 

There’s a swishing noise as Sirius shakes his head against the carpet. “I know that you believe that. I know that it bothers you.”

He taps his knuckles against the back of Remus’ hand, signaling that it’s his turn with the joint. Remus takes it from him and inhales gratefully, feeling suddenly close to tears and glad for the excuse of the harsh smoke. 

Bothered is a terrifically simple way to describe the depth of the self-loathing, fear and guilt he wrestles with every moon. The transition is always the worst of it: not the pain, but the relief. That awful, traitorous part of himself that wishes he'd never change back, that he could live forever in the gruesome freedom of his wolfish brain, never having to face himself in the morning. 

Never having to wonder if this will be the time; if this will be the time when he will do something he can’t forgive himself for.  

Bollocks, he’s ruining his buzz.

When he opens his eyes Sirius is still looking at him, his brown eyes troubled. 

“And I know that’s why what I did,” Sirius starts, and then swallows. “Why what I did was so deeply shit - but,” he trails off. 

Remus blinks at him, surprised; they haven’t mentioned it out loud in months. “I’m not so sure that sentence should have a but after it.” 

“The butt is the best part - I should know, I’m a bit of a connoisseur.”

Rolls his eyes at him. “You’re certainly a bit of something.” 

Sirius grins halfheartedly, then breaks eye contact with a sigh. “I’m not trying to excuse it, I’m trying to explain. To explain why -” 

“We’ve already done this a hundred times, Sirius. The hatchet is very buried - you don’t have to explain anything.” 

It’s true - they’ve done this, over and over. Poking at the memory like a sore tooth. Both wishing it had never happened, both unwilling to forget that it did. 

The incident seems to have jarred Sirius deeply, forced a crack in his easy confidence; a revelation of something he thought he’d avoided, or eradicated. And so the subject resurfaces with him frequently, intentionally. Remus supposes he uses the memory as a reminder, as a self-check. A tithing, of sorts. 

And Remus - well, perhaps he has more self-respect than he once thought.

It could have been so easy to forgive in full, to write off being used in that way as justice for the monster that lives in his skin. Being used for what he is, to the detriment of who he is. 

But the hurt he felt toward Sirius, the vindication he felt in James’ anger - something in him knew he deserved better, in the end. 

It was nice to know, really, that his shame doesn’t own every part of him. 

“Why what?” he asks after a beat, as unable to stop himself as Sirius had likely been in bringing it up. 

Sirius sighs heavily, turning his face toward the ceiling. “I couldn’t fathom it, wanting to hurt you like that. Wanting to hurt you at all. That fucking git - I couldn’t bear the thought.” He rolls his eyes and lets out a harsh laugh, devoid of humor. “Which is naturally why I had the very rational reaction of doing something that guaranteed you got hurt.” 

Remus snorts, but doesn’t say anything. He can still feel the ghost of that pain - a sharp crack, trust breaking clean in two. 

Sirius meets his eye again, his jaw set. The stubble on his chin gleams in the firelight, making him look older. Softer. 

“It isn’t going to happen again,” he says, tone vehement. He starts again, voice gone gentle and low, “You don’t have to worry. I won’t let you do anything bad.  I wouldn’t - I wouldn’t risk you like that again. I’ll prove it to you. I will.” 

It doesn’t matter now; they’ve healed it, between them. It can bear his weight again. 

“Yes, well.” Remus clears his throat, trying to dispel the knot there. “While you’re making room for all this personal growth, might I suggest trimming the ego down a bit? Should provide quite a bit of free space,” he jokes weakly.  

Sirius pushes at his shoulder. “Tosser. Fat chance - when you count yourself one of Remus Lupin’s best mates it can be very hard to be humble.” He smiles winningly, but the edges of it are tremulous, still unsure. 

“Exaggerated flattery will only get you so far, Mr. Black,” Remus sighs, deciding to let them both off the hook. “You contradict yourself quite a bit, you know,” he adds after a moment.  

“It’s called being enigmatic.” Sirius waggles eyebrows. 

“It’s called being stoned out of your gourd.” He takes the forgotten roach from Sirius’ hand and snuffs it out against the lid of the box, then spells away the ashes. “I forgot how sincere and morose you get when you’re mashed.” 

“That’s a little hypocritical, Sir Broody McDour - you could give Mr. Rochester a run for his galleon when the mood strikes you.” 

“Yes well, it’s a bit nippy out on the moors this time of year - I’ve had enough of being serious for tonight.” 

“I haven’t, he is one sexy bastard.” 

“Christ Padfoot, that particular pony has been pummeled beyond recognition - find another joke, I’m begging you.” 

“Shan't.” 

A comfortable silence descends, the warmth of the room wrapping them in a drowsy cloud of contentment. 

“Remus,” Sirius murmurs. 

“Mhmm?” Remus halfheartedly steels himself for another confessional exchange. 

“I’m hungry.” 

Remus turns his head to blink at him. “How is that possible? We ate almost an entire chicken not an hour ago.” 

“Yes, but it was only one chicken. I am a growing boy-dog - I need a lot of sustenance to support this muscle-bound, strapping physique.” He pats the flat stomach beneath his t-shirt. 

Remus grunts, trying to get a leash around his straying thoughts. “You are not a growing boy, you are a bottomless pit.” 

“ _ C’est la meme chose, oui? _ I can’t believe we didn’t think to bring extra snacks back with us. This is literally the worst thing that’s ever happened.”

“Literally?”

“Literally.”

“The worst thing that’s ever happened?”

“Indeed.”

Remus squeezes the bridge of his nose and sighs. “I was trying to point out how over-dramatic you’re obviously being, but now I’m starting to agree with you. Why didn’t we at least grab some chocolate?” 

Sirius flops over onto his stomach, pressing his forehead into the carpet. “We could try and raid James’ trunk - I know he keeps sweets on hand in there.”

“Yes but Lily got him that muggle padlock after the last time we broke in there for the trick wands.” 

“Blast. We could try guessing the combination? Ten galleons it’s Lily’s birthday, the utter sap.” 

“Nah, I tried that yesterday and it wouldn’t do.” 

“Why were you trying to get in his trunk yesterday?”

“I’d run out of clean socks.”

“And you thought your best bet was with James? Fat chance.” 

“Better him than you! There’s a reason we make you hang those rotten combat boots out the window -” 

“Not my fault you lot have absolutely no appreciation for fashion.” 

“Believe me, it has nothing to do with how they look and everything to do with how they reek like a week-old ghoul carcass liberally slathered with Bubotuber Pus -” 

“They’re vintage! They came, you know, seasoned.” 

“And ‘seasoned’ would be another word for ‘manky and heinous’?” 

Sirius sticks out his tongue at him grumpily, then his face brightens. “Oh!” he exclaims, reaching down to pull a Chocolate Frog from his trouser pocket with a flourish.  

“How deep are those pockets?” 

“Extension charm. Aha! Tindy slipped it to me on our way out of the kitchen.”

“I think she fancies you.”

“Who doesn’t?” Sirius scoffs, tearing into the frog’s wrapper. 

Remus rolls his eyes. “It’s amazing you can manage to even get airborne on a broom with a head that big.”

“Well I also have a prodigiously sized penis on the other end, so everything sort of balances out.” 

“That makes no physical sense whatsoever.” 

“Does too! You know, one head versus ano-” 

“Your grasp of anatomy leaves much to be desired. It’s not your fault, really - the lack of a practical biological curriculum at this school is an unfortunate reality,” Remus concedes. “Negligent, if you ask me. I’ve always wondered about that, actually - that and maths. You’d think they’d see the benefits of -”

“Oh, do not start in on the maths argument again, Moons. I’m too caned to contemplate the ‘obvious advantage of a solid basis in arithmetic and geometry for the practical application of blah blah blah’ - let’s go back to the part where you mentioned desiring me to grasp your anatomy, that was much more interesting.” 

“Shut up and give me the frog.” 

They enter into a brief scuffle over the candy, Remus ending up with a mangled half that is indiscernible as head or tail. He pops it into his mouth with a groan of happiness. 

“Who’d we get?” he mumbles around his mouthful, gesturing to the crumpled card Sirius is holding. 

“Another Dumbledore.” Sirius tries to smooth out the creases, smearing a bit of chocolate across the front in the process and causing the image of the professor to grimace a bit in distaste. “I see they’ve updated his portrait. Those half-moon specs are much more flattering than the rectangle frames - dead sexy, really.” 

“For fuck’s sake, please do not elaborate on that - learning of your crush on the Bloody Baron the other day was enough information to tide me over for quite some time.” 

“What can I say - the spectral gore was really working for him, that morning. Besides I only said that to make Kingsley jealous.” 

Remus swallows compulsively, his mouth suddenly dry. He wishes he still had the joint so he’d have something to do with his hands. “Not sure it worked - he doesn’t seem the possessive type,” he manages.  

Sirius shrugs. “We aren’t exclusive in any case, but no, he isn’t. Chronically unruffled, that one. Which I quite like about him, really - he’s a very dignified and capable sort.” He stretches his limbs out and yawns. “But I also like them a bit tetchy. Not as much fun dating someone unflappable when you quite enjoy doing the, you know, flapping. Which sounds a bit dirty, but I don’t mean it like that. Not entirely, anyway.”  

“Mhmm,” Remus grunts, not trusting himself to say any more. 

Sirius flips the card absently between his fingers. “How come Minnie isn’t ever on these cards? She deserves to be.” 

“I agree. Though I don’t think the makers of Chocolate Frogs have quite the same relationship to her as you do.”

“Unwavering, heartfelt devotion?” 

“I was going to say annoying obsession that she barely tolerates.” 

“Oh she loves me, really - I’m like the son she never wanted. She and my actual mum have that bit in common, but Minnie handles it much better - no emotional abuse, just theatrical sighing.” 

Remus smiles wanly, pushing the thought of his own mum down again, even though it feels cowardly to do so. 

The quiet settles around them again, and this time Remus has almost fully dozed off when Sirius’ voice breaks the silence. 

“I lied, before.”  

Remus waits to feel the swoop in his gut that he would have felt months ago, the black roil of distrust that had cropped up and wedged it's way between them. 

It doesn't come. 

"I'm not afraid of you. Not even slightly. Not even the tiniest bit. I know you likely wish I was," Sirius continues, his face grave. "But you aren't dangerous –”

“Now that’s categorically untrue,” Remus tries, but Sirius barrels right past him.  

“Well not to me you aren’t. You are the very embodiment of safety and comfort to me, Remus Lupin."  

"Oh, well,” Remus says weakly, suddenly feeling like he’s been cuffed upside the head with a well-aimed stunning spell. “It's probably on account of all the cardigans.”

Sirius grins at him, soft and devastating, and Remus likes him more than anyone he’s ever met. He always has. Even when he shouldn’t. 

"I think it has much more to do with the self-deprecating idiot in the cardigans, but you might have a fuzzy little point," Sirius teases. 

He reaches forward and gently runs the tip of one finger over the soft hem of Remus’ sleeve, right over the juncture of his wrist.  

Remus shivers, as if the touch had actually met his skin. "Points can't be fuzzy, that's ox-oxymoronic," he stammers.

He closes his eyes, feels Sirius hook his finger under the edge of his cuff, still not quite making contact with his hand. Remus can feel the warmth of him, that single point of almost-contact between them humming. 

They do this too, sometimes, one of them tugging on the line of tension between them, testing to see how much it can stand.

Sometimes it feels inevitable, like gravity - the weight of whatever lies between them an inexorable pull, drawing them in to some abstracted middle distance as a matter of course, or perhaps in a matter of time. 

At other moments it seems ridiculous to even conceptualize more; Sirius is already the person closest to him, is already so thoroughly woven into him that separation seems impossible. 

And yet. 

He’s watched Sirius date other people, he’s dated other people, and it’s been - fine. The occasional twinge of discomfort, of longing, but nothing shattering. Nothing that can’t be soothed by their regular closeness. 

And yet. 

He doesn’t need Sirius to prove anything to him. Their original connection had snapped, yes, but they’ve repaired it, both working diligently to take those loose and uncertain ends and tie them into a knot. So far it’s held. 

Sometimes Remus thinks the only reason it has is the hopeful, half-realized promise of ‘someday.’ It  _ has _ to hold - Remus can’t afford to lose this, and it often feels like taking the next step would be asking the universe for too much. 

And yet. 

Remus turns onto his back, looking up at the warm, dark wood of the rafters. Sirius’ stare is a physical weight against the side of his face; gentle, but pinning all the same. Remus can’t bring himself to turn back toward him. 

Then the feeling shifts, and he realizes that it isn’t a phantom touch at all. Sirius is pressing two careful fingertips to his cheek. 

“You’ve lovely freckles,” Sirius says, low. 

Remus’ entire body goes stiff, caught somewhere between wanting to flinch away and wanting to push back and never stop. “Sirius,” he breathes out.  

Sirius ignores him, tugs again on their shared string. 

“They’re like constellations,” he continues softly, then, “Do you think we could find mine if we looked?” 

Remus’ heart pulls a complicated maneuver inside his chest, seizing and blooming all at once. 

“Sirius,” he tries again, turning to face him but retracting from his touch. He expects to see challenge in Sirius’ eyes, but he finds only a smile, genuine and unconcerned - as gentle and pinning as his touch had been. 

“I’m sure we could,” Remus offers, and it comes out grating, strained. 

After a few beats Sirius’ smile turns rueful, expression twisting into something that seems to say, ‘But we won’t, will we?’ 

Remus smiles back, hoping the ‘Not yet’ is as easily readable on his own face, as obvious as it feels in his blood, racing close to the surface of his skin. 

He can almost feel what it would be like to reach out and touch him. His palm tingles with the potential of it, a sensation like the surge of magic down his wand arm, pure intention funneled into action.

But Remus isn’t ready to cast this spell, just yet. 

He could - it would be easy. Wandless, wordless, wanted. 

And yet. 

His hand stays limp against the carpet, his pulse jumping, surging, and still his alone. 

The moment holds. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MY FRIENDS DID YOU KNOW THAT IN THE 1940s A SLANG TERM FOR POT WAS ‘MUGGLES’?? DID WE KNOW THIS? 
> 
> Sorry about the heavier tone of this one!! It could not be helped - The Incident (bad Sirius, very bad Sirius) needed to be addressed. Honestly I think Remus forgiving him would have been a very long and involved process, given everything, even without the meddlesome Romance Feelings. 
> 
> Oy, as if being a queer teenager deeply in love with your best friend isn't hard enough, these two had to add magically-complicated betrayal of secrets and Snape-endangerment into the mix! (I have a bit of a frame of reference for this. Not the werewolf or Snape bit.) 
> 
> Thanks for reading! <3


	4. Remus Lupin v. A Ginger Biscuit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Better late than never!! I have no explanation for my tardiness in posting other than to say that real life is very dumb and inconvenient and I should be allowed to sit at home and write silly stories in my joggers all the time. Alas! 
> 
> Be advised: this chapter features background mentions of the brewing war and associated fears and dangers - the next chapter will contain more explicit mentions. Anyhow, more angsty things are coming your way - though they will be heavily tempered with cuteness/lighter topics like long-dead poets and fabulously hirsute great apes. Also maybe, possibly some kissing.

**December 21st, 1979**

* * *

 

 

“Ooof!”

Remus stumbles heavily against Sirius’ shoulder as they duck through the archway behind the Leaky.

“Alright?” Sirius asks with concern, holding the door to the pub open for him and peering into Remus’ face with a frown.

“Just a bit slippery, is all,” Remus assures him, his left foot pulling out from under him again even as he speaks.

It’s clear that Remus’ worn shoes aren’t very well suited to the current weather; the cobbles of Diagon are slick and wet, and the bins lined up in the alley are coated with a layer of ice. The tired soles of his old brogues don’t stand much of a chance against the slush, even with all the mending and sealing charms he’s thrown at them.

It also might be true that he’s still a bit shaky from the moon’s ravages the night before. Luckily Remus has finally been able to get his hands on Wolfsbane a few times this year thanks to James’ generosity, but though the change on the potion is vastly preferable to the change without it, the experience still leaves him strained and exhausted.

Which is likely why Sirius doesn’t look convinced, setting a stabilizing, mittened hand against Remus’ elbow as he crosses the threshold into the building.

“I wish you’d let me stay with you, last night,” he sighs, face clouded, and Remus can tell he’s being careful about touching him.

Sirius is always careful about touching him, these days.

Remus shrugs him off, but gently. He has his own ways of being careful.

“Wasn’t really my call - your assignment was more important than keeping me company during my monthly imitation of a miserable hearthrug. I was fine,” he says, knowing he sounds tetchy and hating it. “They needed you.”

“Yes, but I could have begged off if you’d - never mind.” Sirius slides his hand back into the pocket of his jacket and turns his face away, his gaze searching the crowded bar for sight of their friends.

Remus catches the glum slant of his mouth as he turns, and feels a pang of sympathy and self-irritation. His hands twitch in futility at his sides and he pulls them into fists against the urge to reach out.

Things have been strained between the two of them for weeks. For years, really, if Remus is being honest with himself.

And of course things hadn’t been helped at all by the - incident at the Shrieking Shack, two moons ago.

Remus pushes back against the memory, willing it away. He can still feel Sirius’ arms around his bare chest; Sirius’ hard, warm body pressed in tight against his bruised back. He can still feel it, and it’s driving him mad.

Remus shrugs off the prickling of his skin and follows Sirius toward the bar to place their orders with Tom. He stands at his elbow and angles his arm deliberately away. He feels Sirius shift, mirroring him.

Careful, so careful.

This is nothing new, not really; that old tension has settled oddly between them, in recent years. Something going thick and gummy as cold custard, something in the way. It’s as if everything unsaid between them has manifested physically, a thin veil over every conversation, every long look. Thin and transparent, but separating them all the same; suspending them in some odd and excruciating middle point of intimacy.

Remus knows what it is, but he doesn’t know how to fix it. He’s never known how to fix it. He’s always been a coward where it counts.

It’s not as if Remus doesn’t want to diffuse things, to find out how Sirius truly feels about - about _them_. About the prospect of them making a go of it, one way or the other. It’s not as if Remus doesn’t routinely want to shove Sirius up against the nearest available surface and snog him to within an inch of his life, or possibly have Sirius return the favor. It’s not as if Remus doesn’t know the logical thing to do, which is just to make himself clear and have a fucking conversation about it like a normal, rational person would do. He wants, and he knows, but still he does nothing. 

He just gets a bit - turned around on himself, in the end. He wants to be brave, but.   

There’s always a but.

Anyway, it’s not as if Sirius has made any overt gestures himself. In fact, Remus often starts to wonder to himself if Sirius has never made any gestures at all; if this entire thing is an unrequited, one-sided mess that Remus has made up in his own head for the sake of something to dwell over, like some sort of pathetic idiot who reads too many romance novels.

It’s not a possibility Remus has ever been able to discount. He does read a lot of romance novels.

It’s also true that the lot of them have had their hands full over the last few years, what with the ever growing threat of violent insurrection and its dawning horrors.

Then again, the mounting likelihood of harm hasn’t helped any with Remus’ anxieties concerning the matter, altering the fear of losing Sirius from its usual ‘what if he doesn’t feel exactly the same way and things are horrible and awkward between us forever,’ to ‘what if he literally gets blown to pieces before I get the chance to explain to him that he’s the best, dearest part of my entire existence, in a way that would make me want to go and thank his mum for bringing him into the world if she wasn’t a complete hag, not to mention already dead, and if doing so wouldn’t make me sound like a complete and total nutter.’

Which is obviously the sort of thing one should tell a person one feels that way about, and yet Remus still can’t seem to make the leap.

Most of the time he feels nearly content; he and Sirius are already as close as two people can be, bar the obvious. And really, what does a bit of snogging matter anyhow?

Then in other moments Sirius will turn his head in a certain way or smile just so, and Remus will feel his bones dissolving with the desire to touch him. To pull him close and say horribly sappy, tender things into his ear until they both die of embarrassment or joint suffocation.

But.

Given everything else they’ve been going through, Remus feels as if jumping over that gulf is more terrifying to him than it has any right to be. Risking his neck is becoming an inevitability, almost mundane, at this point - it seems beyond ridiculous that risking his heart should be harder.

Though perhaps that’s fitting. Honestly, given all the novels he’s sure he ought to have seen this coming. He’s a living trope, and not even a very interesting one.

Sirius taps his shoulder lightly, pulling Remus out of his spinning mind with a jolt, then jerks his head toward a back corner before setting off into the crowd. Remus follows his lead, spotting Lily’s telltale hair shining like a flame in the gloomy rear of the pub.

As they move through the throng of gathered witches and wizards Remus becomes conscious that the typical rowdiness of the pub’s atmosphere is run through with a palpable vein of tension; he supposes knowing a genocidal maniac is on the loose will do that to people. Justified as it may be, the nervous vibration sets him on edge, the back of his neck prickling with it.

Lily and James are tucked around a low table with Dorcas and Emmeline, heads bent close together and all giggling at something.

Remus’ heart blooms in contentment at the sight of them, a balm over his fatigue.

It’s a rare night none of them are on a mission for the recently formed Order, and James’ owl Damini had dropped in to the flat an hour earlier with a note urging them all to gather for a pub night ‘in the spirit of camaraderie _and_.’

That hanging ‘and’ had caused Remus a small twinge of apprehension. It’s unlike James to be vague in correspondence - his missives usually as effusive and tangentially winding as his conversation - and Remus hopes his uncharacteristic brevity was more indicative of haste than caution.

Watching them as they approach, his fears are not entirely allayed; he can see James’ eyes darting around the room with a surveying look, and he doesn’t think it’s a coincidence that the group has picked a table in the rear of the room, with a clear view of all exits. Any other time they would be drinking with abandon, but Remus can tell just by looking that the lot are nursing the drinks they have, the pint in front of Dorcas barely touched. He notes the bottle of butterbeer in Lily’s hand. Odd, as she usually prefers firewhisky.

The exuberant greeting flurry of cheek-kisses and hugs helps beat back Remus’ anxieties a tad, and the glass of firewhiskey that floats over and lands in front of him helps to spread the quiet warmth even further.

“Where’s Peter?” Dorcas asks as Remus and Sirius insinuate themselves around the table.

Remus hopes it isn’t too obvious that he’s angling his knees away from touching Sirius’ under the tabletop. He hopes it’s even less obvious how much he wishes he didn’t have to.

Sirius, seemingly oblivious, takes a deep pull of the lager James slides across to him and grins in appreciation. “He left a note that he had a date with some bird - I think she’s called Anna.”

“Anna?” James raises a dark eyebrow. “But hasn’t he been in love with Marlene for years? As ill-advised as I think that is in terms of requitement -”

“Yes, well, the heart may want what it wants, but the knob wants what it can get.”

“What poetry you spew, my dear Padfoot.”

“I am basically a modern day Keats - minus the lukewarm reception and tuberculosis.”

Remus splutters a mouthful of his whiskey. “Sirius! How dare -”

Sirius shakes his head mockingly. “Too soon? It’s been over a hundred years, Moons.”

“Still! A little respect for -”

“Oi!” Dorcus cuts in. “Before you eejits carry on with the foreplay, can we please get to whatever announcement the wee lovebirds called this meeting for? They insisted on waiting for you fuckwits to turn up before they spilled, but Potter has managed to be thoroughly annoying about it even sans specifics.”

“I’m excited!” James crows, his smile so wide it looks painful. “It’s very exciting news!”

“You keep saying that,” Emmeline huffs, tossing her long, jet braid over one shoulder. “Will you please say something _else_ , now that Twit One and Twit Two have finally deigned to gift us with their presence?”

“Twit One appreciates the acknowledgment of his giftly status,” Sirius puts in, raising his glass in salute.

“Twit Two isn’t surprised,” Remus adds.

“But what about Peter?” James asks, looking to Lily. “Surely we can’t leave him out of it - should I try to steal him away from his date? I could send a Patronus -”

Lily pats his hand. “No, leave him be. We can pop by his floo later - don’t want to interrupt him on our odd night out. ”

James nods. “That wouldn’t be very mately of us, no. Not that it’s a very rare occurrence for him, these days. He’s been out with, what - six different witches in the past two months?”

“That’s where he keeps telling us he’s going,” Sirius sighs, wiping foam from his upper lip. “Haven’t actually met any of the lucky _mademoiselles_ , though. Perhaps he’s worried I’ll steal them away with my superior sexiness and charm.” He waves a lazy hand over himself, from the topknot perched high on his head to the silver-capped toes of his laced boots.

Remus feels he should offer a retort to this in the name of friendly banter, but - well. He settles for averting his eyes to the tabletop.

“Considering you have all the charm of an oozing Bubotuber,” Dorcas starts, taking the mantle admirably.

“Excuse me, but Bubotuber pus is a very effective potions ingredient - so the joke’s on you, Meadowes,” Sirius cuts her off, nicking Dorcas’ tumbler of whiskey and taking a quick sip.

“True!” James squeezes Sirius’ shoulder affectionately. “Padfoot is very effective when he wants to be - he could seduce every last person in this room, I’d wager. Though perhaps not all at once.”

“Thank you for the vote of confidence, dear Prongs.” Sirius pats his cheek and glances speculatively around the bar. “Maybe I’ll have a go a pulling Tom, this eve. I’ve always wanted to try a tryst with someone so outrageously tall - I’d imagine it would entail a certain amount of acrobatics. A bit of pole vaulting, if you catch my -”

“Ugh,” Emmeline sighs.  

“Besides, I’ve never had a go with a bartender.”

Remus doubts this is true, but he also doubts that Sirius plans on trying it on with Tom. As far as he can tell Sirius hasn’t been with anyone in months.

Remus tries not to notice these things, but it’s a futile effort. It always has been.

“There you go, Pads, kill two birds with one boner. I already regret saying that.” James screws his face up in distaste before continuing, “Though if Peter was worried about anyone stealing his Date of the Day it’s likely Remus - he’s clearly the catch of our generation.” He winks at Remus over the rim of his beer as he sips.

“Ha bloody ha.” Remus narrows his eyes at him, sensing that he’s about to be teased.

“I’m serious! It’s the sweater vests - I’ve never seen them quite as becoming on any other frame, my darling Moonbeam. Dead sexy. Peter only wishes he could carry off a cable knit so well as you.”

“Lily, constrain your husband, he’s trying to get in my knickers again.”

“He has a point.” Lily shrugs, elbow propped on the table and chin in her hand. “Peter is much more suited to cardis.”

“You’re quite right, darling,” James agrees. “I hope he wore his navy one tonight - brings out his eyes. That’s sure to get Anna all hot and bothered.”

“Not as hot and bothered as I am at the sight of Remus in those tweed trousers,” Dorcas adds brightly, grinning at him with a glint in her kohl-lined eyes. “C’mon Lupin, stand up and give us a good twirl.”

“Will everyone please stop taking the piss out of my wardrobe?”

“Yes, leave Remus alone, dear.” Emmeline pats Dorcas’ robe-clad arm. “Not everyone can pull off banana-yellow houndstooth and denim jodhpurs. Everyone else’s sartorial splendor pales in comparison.”

Dorcas pushes up her sleeves with a satisfied smirk, the chunky, mirrored bangles on her arms clattering merrily. “That’s true. But I wasn’t joking - I really do want another gander at his perfectly pert ar-”

“Emmiline, constrain your fiance, she’s trying to get in my knickers again.”

“Yes, can we forget about Peter the Fanny Fiend and Remus’ - just tell us what the announcement is already, you lot,” Sirius huffs, looking irritated and uncharacteristically pink. He meets Remus’ eye briefly before darting his gaze swiftly away.

Remus rearranges his crossed legs under the table top, angling further away from Sirius’ thigh.

“Alright, alright,” James concedes merrily. “Can we have a drum roll? I feel news of this caliber merits a drum roll.”

“Will you settle for an eye roll?” Remus asks.

“Out with it already, Prongs” Sirius demands.

“Don’t be such spoiled sports, you two,” James admonishes playfully. “It’s not our fault that Lily and I have more eventful and interesting lives than either of you boring sods.”

“Please,” Sirius scoffs. “I have more interesting in my pinkie toe than you do in your entire gangly body, Potter. You’re _straight,_ for one -”

“Oi! Just because I’m happily married to the fittest woman in the world does not give you leave to go assuming my labels, you uppity prick. Bad form, Padfoot. And need I remind you of the beautiful hour we spent together, last Boxing Day -”

“I don’t know if I’d go around gloating about the absolute worst snog in the history of snogdom - that was during the time you were experimenting with the mustache, remember? I imagine kissing a Bowtruckle would have been more pleasant. You almost poked my eye out -”

“It’s not my fault you move your mouth in an unpredictable fashion!”

“It’s a mouth, not a boggart! How unpredictable could it possibly -”

“Oh for Christ’s sake,” Lily interjects loudly, throwing up her hands. “I’m pregnant. That was the announcement. The end. Ta da.”

The sudden silence around their table rings.

Remus blinks at her. “You’re -”

“She is!” James claps his hands together, beaming around their shell-shocked faces. “Her oven is bunned, as they say -”

“Literally no one says that.” Lily rolls her eyes, but she’s beaming too - her freckled face clear and shining with happiness, glowing with it.

The others at the table gape incoherently at them for a few seconds more before sending up a sudden round of cheers so piercing it startles a nearby wizard into toppling headlong off his stool and crumpling his hat.

“Congratulations, mate!”

“We’re so happy for you! _Lily,_ oh my goodness -”

“Jesus Christ on toast - you industrious shaggers, you!”

Remus finds himself sandwiched between Dorcas and Lily and he tries to free his arms enough to manage his own ecstatic embrace. Over someone’s - Dorcas’? Emmaline's? His own? - elbow he can see Sirius tackling James in a violent full-bodied hug.

The night devolves a bit from there, James and Sirius goading one another into a slew of celebratory shots and the lot of them intermittently but exuberantly puppy piling on the expectant couple with hugs and jests.  

Emmeline and Dorcas duck out sometime between the fourth round and the fifth, headed back through Diagon for their apartment above Fortescue’s, kissing everyone’s cheeks as they go.

Remus watches them leave, hands already clasped not two feet from the table. He watches them all the way to the exit, where Dorcas holds the door open for Emmeline with a flourished bow, the halo of her tight curls catching the light as she dips her head. Emmeline pushes her shoulder, laughing, grabbing her collar to pull her the rest of the way out into the alley and leaning down to kiss her lips as they disappear from view.

Remus watches the door swing shut behind them, and aches.

He turns back to watch Sirius pull himself away from Lily for the eighth or ninth time, wiping his eyes surreptitiously as he smiles.

“I’m so chuffed for you, my loves. Half of you and half of you!” Sirius exclaims, leaning back in to pinch James’ and Lily’s cheeks in his hands. “Merlin, it's going to be the ugliest little sprog in the world.”

James and Lily cuff him upside the head in tandem.

Sirius wheezes slightly, then rallies. “But can you imagine if he or she gets James’ general hirsuteness and Lily's gingeryness? It will be like one of those monkeys we saw at the muggle zoo,” he teases. “The one they just went ahead and called 'orange,' or something. Which I cannot even fault for its lack of creativity, because what else would you call something like that?”

“Orangutan,” Remus offers.

“Gesundheit.”

Lily snorts. “Sorry to burst your bubble, Padfoot, but babies aren't very hairy, as a general rule. From what I can gather from my own family albums, they look rather like unbaked baps, initially - all soft and squashy ‘round the edges, and hideously pale. Petunia more so than myself, of course.”

“Doubt you’ll have to worry about pale, given the father’s well-baked complexion,” Sirius points out, shrugging. “And perhaps this one will come out hairy just to spice things up.”

"They will doubtless be beautiful, not matter what,” James offers, eyes fixed on Lily with a dreamy expression. “Look at their mother, for Merlin’s sake! Honestly, I still can hardly believe I managed to get the great Lily Evans up the duff.”

"We all are, mate," Remus agrees.  

James nods, the movement slowed by his escalating level of intoxication. "Yes, well, I _did_. I'm obviously extremely -"

"Lucky," Sirius interjects.  

"- virile," James finishes.  

"That too," James and Sirius say in unison.  

“Unimaginable luck aside, I am clearly a Master of Mating,” James continues, waving a hand loftily and almost knocking over his half-empty pint glass as he does. “A Powerful Producer of Progeny. A bona fide sex _god._ ”

“What a bountiful crop of ego you have there, James,” Remus comments dryly, taking sip of his newly refreshed whiskey. “I did hear the harvest really benefits when fertilized with bullshit.”

“Indeed.” Lily nods beside him. “Everything's coming up knobhead.”

Remus snorts and tips his glass to clink against the neck of Lily’s butterbeer.

James crosses his arms over his chest, unbothered. “Luckily said prodigious ego provides enough insulation to shield me from your cutting remarks,” he says, slurring only slightly. His lanky frame gives a telltale wobble that Remus has seen too many times before.  

“Either way I’m afraid your boasting is actually a tad misplaced on this subject, dearest,” Lily tells him with a consoling pat on the arm that Remus suspects is doubling as a steadying maneuver. “If you consider the statistics, the ratio of babies made to the sheer multitude of times we’ve shagged is rather dismal.”

James produces a hundred-Lumos smile and paws at Sirius’ elbow. “Did you hear that, Padfoot? She actually admitted to shagging me more than once! And in public!”

Sirius beams back at him, his slack shoulders hitching every so often as he hiccoughs sporadically. “Hic! She shagged you in public?,” he lears, peering at James with a slightly unfocused gaze. “That’s - hic! - adventurous.”

“No - no I meant,” James trails off, eyes going even more glazed than Sirius’. “Though there was that time in the loo at the Hogshead -”

Lily slaps a palm over his mouth. “Pipe down, you absolute arse, or there will be no repeat performances of that particular incident.”

James simply grabs her hand in both of his and begins kissing her palm with fervor, making her pull back, giggling and flushed.

James props his chin on his palm, gazing at her adoringly. “Lily Potter nee Evans is having my baby! ‘Scuse me - _our_ baby. I’m not actually doing much of the work - though I was overjoyed to contribute in any small way.” He winks exaggeratedly at Sirius and Remus in turn. “Not too small, mind you. I don’t wish to be a braggart, by my Contribution is decently lengthy, not to mention its considerable girth -”

“For fucks sake! You’re lucky you’re cute, James Potter.”

“Lily Potter nee Evans thinks I’m cute!” James beams. “What a night, lads!”

Sirius throws an arm around James’ neck and pets at the side of his head, their combined unsteadiness sending them toppling into the solid wall of the bar. “ _Oof!_ I knew you could do it, my lad -”

“Oh Merlin,” Lily mutters, shooting Remus a long-suffering look. “They've started lad-ing. Time to get home.”

She downs the last of her butterbeer and stands, gracefully swinging her plum-colored wool coat onto her shoulders.

Sirius excuses himself to stagger off toward the loo while the rest of them tuck themselves into their winter layers, Lily zipping up James’ blue duffle coat while he drops kisses to the tip of her nose, arms held out to the side like the tiny boy he decidedly isn’t.

Remus does up the buttons of his black peacoat, having to concentrate on the activity with only a little more energy than normal; he’s nowhere near as far out of his tree as Sirius or James, but he’s not quite up it either.

James regards him for a moment as he finishes tying on his scarf, one eye closed in either scrutiny or intoxication.

“You know my dearest, darling Moonpants - that coat makes you look a bit too buttoned up and stodgy. Sort of like a missionary.” He turns to Lily and raises a dark eyebrow. “Which is, incidentally, his favorite sexual position.”

Remus rolls his eyes and pulls out his want to shrink James’ pants two sizes, making James yelp and grab at his squashed nadgers. Lily snorts and also flicks her wand toward the area, casting something wordlessly that makes James stop squirming and grin widely at her. She winks in response.

“Oh, I think he’d quite prefer doggy style, if he had his way,” Lily adds, tipping her head in the direction of the loo door and winking at Remus this time. “But I think he’s still too much of chicken.”

Remus feels his cheeks heating and narrows his eyes at her. “You’re mixing your animal metaphors a bit there, Lil,” he comments, making his voice as cutting as he can muster, given the potent combination of embarrassment and firewhiskey.

Lily, clearly unfazed by his tone, begins to cluck like a chicken and flap her folded arms. James follows suit instantly, the two of them shimming about and squawking like a pair of the most demented birds Remus has ever seen.

Remus crosses his arms over his chest and watches them, struggling between mortification, awe that these two ridiculous persons are about to be parents, of all things, and an expansive sort of joy that seems to push all the air out of his lungs.

Merlin, he loves these idiots. He is also very likely drunk. 

Sirius, returning from the restroom, joins the fray instantly, offering a perfunctory, “What are we doing, then?” in between braying clucks.

“We’re teasing wee Remus,” Lily giggles, turning so she can poke her behind towards him while he hides his face behind his hands and groans.

“You know, my hope for your relationship was that you would start rubbing off on James, not the other way ‘round,” Remus informs her, dodging her bottom and nearly tripping headlong over a stool.  

Lily grins wide, twirling now. “I assure you that the rubbing off is both mutual and ecstatic.”

James pauses in his dance and blinks at Remus with an awed, cat-in-the-cream expression. “That’s my wife,” he says. “I’m married to her.”

“You’re all horrible,” Remus tells them. “You’re all horrible, and I’m leaving.”

“Oh we can’t leave yet, Moons!” Sirius whines, his vaguely chicken-esque movements having devolved into a sort of robotic squat thrust at this point. “I still haven’t been filled in on why this lot were teasing you in the first place.”

“It’s a secret,” Lily interjects, just as Remus opens his mouth to protest. She’s stopped dancing, holding still with her face tipped up toward James as he winds her long, rust-colored scarf in careful loops around her neck. “A very poorly kept one,” she adds. “The gist of which is that he needs to, as they say, shit or get off the pot.”

“What a picturesque expression,” James comments, pulling on his hat. The pompom on top droops forward between his eyebrows; Lily reaches up to flip it back and tuck James’ unruly fringe under the knit, the two of them smiling at each other with a softness that makes Remus ache once more.

His eyes dart toward Sirius of their own accord.

Sirius looking at him with a strange expression, half puzzled, half - decidedly not. It’s as if he looking through him, and Remus is still unsure about what he sees - still wishes he did more than anything in the world.

He also wishes he'd had a few more whiskeys. 

“But Remus and I don’t have secrets,” Sirius says, low, sounding suddenly and completely sober.

Remus stomach pulls up tight with a complicated longing.

All at once he can feel himself back in the Shrieking Shack during that last moon without the potion: rousing in the tight circle of Sirius’ arms, the sleepy awareness of Sirius’ hardness pressed up against his back and his answering arousal making him push back. Their half-conscious, mutually pleasant shifting in the soft morning light. 

On the toes of that memory he can feel the blooming, awkward awareness that had followed, as he had awoken enough to register what was happening, the rest of his body going stiff with nerves.

He can feel, too, Sirius adopting that same tension. Can feel the way he’d moved silently and tactfully away.

Yes, several more firewhiskeys probably wouldn't have gone amiss. 

Remus swallows around the complicated knot in his throat, gulping. “We don’t?”

Sirius’ eyes don’t leave his. “Well, I wish we didn’t,” he mutters, the simple honesty in his voice making Remus want to do something stupid, desperate.

Instead he looks away, catching James and Lily sharing an exasperated look between them.

“C’mon, off to Bedforshire” Lily sighs, pushing James' shoulder. “Growing a human inside you is exhausting - amongst other things,” she adds, pinning Remus with a searching look before she turns toward the door.

They head out the front entrance onto the slushy streets of muggle London, pausing on the pavement outside the door for Lily and Remus to cast sobriety charms on James and Sirius in turn before they head off any further. Both boys wince, but don’t grumble about it; they know it’s safer, this way.

Sirius shakes his head vigorously, as if trying to dispel a particularly persistent cloud of flies. “Was fun while lasted, eh Prongs?”

“Indeed Padfoot, indeed. Bye, my loves. We’ll see you in two weeks, alright?”

“Bye, you right tosser,” Lily says, reaching up to pull Sirius into a tight embrace.  

“Goodbye, my darling bint.” He squeezes her and drops a kiss to the top of her head. “Take care of the kid for us.”

“I’m not sure he or she has many requirements at the moment, given that they’re about the size of a sardine,” she points out, a soft, happy smile lighting her face.  

“I meant James, but yes, by all means look after the blessed offspring as well.” Sirius leans over at the waist, neatly ducking a cuff from James. His face then eye level with Lily’s wool-covered midsection, he bellows, “GOODBYE, WEE BABY POTTER. HAPPY GESTATING!”

Remus claps his glove-clad hands over his ears. “Christ, Padfoot, are we sure that sobriety charm worked? You’ve ruptured my eardrums - likely the sardine’s as well.”

“Well they’ll just be specky like James, eh? Was probably going to happen with or without my help anyhow.” Sirius’ nose wrinkles up in confusion. “Wait. On second thought maybe the charm didn’t work. Let’s have it again.”  

Remus obliges before turning to offer his own departing hugs to Lily and James. He holds Lily for a fraction longer than he intended, squeezing as some unnamed emotion drops through him like lead. 

The air around them becomes suddenly weighted with the heavy uncertainty that clouds all of their partings, these days; the question of exactly when and how they’ll meet again a pressing mantle on each of their shoulders. All at once the cozy fug of whiskey and companionship sloughs off Remus' heart, leaving him shivering against the wind. 

James and Lily apparate away together, arms linked, headed for James’ parents’ house, where the two of them have been staying for the past few months. There’s barely a pop as they disappear, Lily’s spellwork as clean and tidy as ever, but the sight of the snow drifting slowly onto the empty cobblestones where they’d stood makes Remus’ stomach turn unpleasantly.

It makes him want to reach out and clasp Sirius' hand in his own, to anchor himself against the rawness of his fears. 

But. 

Remus’ mood deflates further with every step he takes down the block, as he and Sirius walk in shared silence down the pavement towards the apparition point for South London.

The silence lasts the whole journey back to their flat. Remus’ mind is spinning in a thousand different directions, many of them pointed toward James and Lily - the insane risk they are taking, their joyous bravery in the face of it.

Aren’t they crazy, he thinks to himself wildly, giving themselves another thing to lose?

Aren’t they crazy, making themselves so vulnerable?

Wouldn’t they be crazy not to?

He darts a look toward Sirius as they mount the steps up to their floor; there’s a determined but distracted look on his face that makes Remus think he might not be the only one unsettled by the nights’ revelations. It makes him want to reach out again. It makes him keep his hands in his pockets.

Once through the wards and into the flat, Sirius moves off toward his bedroom, muttering something about pajamas. Remus, still floundering in his odd panic, heads straight to the kitchen.

He makes a pot of hot chocolate, in the muggle way his mum taught him when he was small, comforted by the rich smell of the steam rising out of the pan. It’s never the same when done with magic, and the consistency of the task soothes him. 

Hearing the floorboards squeak in the hall, he pulls down a second mug and a packet of the crunchy ginger biscuits Sirius favors. Sirius shuffles in in his wrinkled joggers and Gryffindor jersey, looking soft and rumpled and so lovely that that routine, acute ache presses in around Remus’ heart.

They still don’t speak.

The clock above the window ticks softly above the rustle of their soft chewing and sipping, and Remus’ anxiety swoops in on him once more in a heavy wave. The words are struggling on his tongue and the clock seems to grow louder and louder with every clicking second, a morbid metronome to the chorus of 'before it's too late, before it’s too late' - the refrain Remus has been hearing his head for months, clacking off in a steady, inexorable rhythm that terrifies him.

They sit down beside one another, at their small, shared table in their small, shared flat. In their shared home, the home Remus didn’t think he’d get to have again, after his mum, after Hogwarts.

They sit down beside one another and Remus feels so comfortable and so wretched at once that it suspends him frozen in the middle. Like a stasis charm. Like Petrificus Totalus.

“Er,” is all he manages before the quiet presses in again.

He chances a panicked look up at Sirius’ face, to find him staring squarely back over the rim of his mug, his jaw set and eyes troubled. Remus’ throat catches.

Then he looks down, popping the last of his biscuit into his mouth, and Remus relaxes fractionally.

It’s just Sirius. He can do this. They can do this. They can have the discussion at the very least, even if nothing comes of it. It will hardly be the worst thing that has happened this year, even if the twisting anxiety in Remus’ gut is telling him otherwise.

But no - the clock, the frantic beating of his heart, and James and Lily are right. Being careful has only gotten them so far; there’s still so much ground he wants to cover, and so little time to traverse it in. It’s now or nev-

"So," Sirius mumbles around his mouthful, abruptly breaking the quiet. "So I'm thinking that right now is probably a good time to tell you that I'm in love with you. So you may want to - er, prepare yourself."  

Remus’ throat catches again, but unfortunately this time it’s not around uncertain words but on a large chunk of ginger biscuit, which has become suddenly and firmly lodged in his windpipe.

He coughs around it, spluttering a bit.

Sirius offers him a concerned grimace and a few quick pats on the back.

"Oh dear – perhaps I should have said the 'prepare yourself' bit first,” he muses, mostly to himself, then, to Remus, “Are you suffocating?"

Remus shakes his head, eyes watering.

"Oh, well in that case I will take your inability to speak as an opportunity to get a word in myself.”

Remus makes an abortive attempt at an eye roll at the sheer absurdity of such a statement before another round of choking cuts him off.

"Shut it,” Sirius admonishes. “I'm quite nervous but I will not be dissuaded.”

He pauses, waiting for Remus to downshift into simple wheezing.

“Remus,” Sirius begins, before pausing again.

Sirius clears his throat nervously and Remus’ heart clenches sweetly in response. He doesn’t think he could speak at this point, even if his own throat weren’t partially obstructed.

Sirius starts again, voice quiet, but determined. "For a long time I thought I'd completely spoilt any chance I might have had with you. Ruined it, that awful night in sixth year. And it gutted me, the thought that I’d torn down what we might have been building to.” He swallows. “Not enough to keep me away from you, as I’m not sure anything could do that. But it’s kept me from trying something, before. But now…”

Sirius breaks eye contact, gaze dropping to the tabletop, his eyes following his fingertip tracing a groove in the wood.

“I've decided that it doesn't matter if you don't feel the same, if we will only - and 'only' is such a stupid, incongruous word in this instance - ” He rubs at the bridge of his nose and sighs sharply, sounding impatient with himself. “If we will only ever be the very best of friends. And that's not to imply that your feelings on the subject don't matter, or that somehow my feelings rank higher in importance than yours – and I'm not trying to force a response, or 'control the narrative' or whatever else Marlene is always accusing men of doing, which she is likely completely in the right about, but. It's just that things are getting quite shit and terrifying, and I want you to know – you _deserve_ to know – that someone loves you. Really loves you. Down to his bones.”

The silence of the room rings in the absence of Sirius’ quiet voice, filling Remus’ ears like the toiling of a bell.

Remus feels as if his entire body is expanding; a tender, painful sort of stretch that is reminiscent yet nothing at all like his monthly transformations.

He feels his ribs shift, making room.

“Oh,” he manages, voice scratchy from the ravages of the biscuit and emotion. He coughs twice more, wincing at the scrape of it.

“Are you going to make a boner joke now?” he asks. The reality of this conversation is having a difficult time setting in, gumming up his mind like treacle.

He can’t believe they’re finally here. He can’t believe it’s taken them so long.

Sirius grins, and Remus feels his chest open another inch. “Only if it would make you feel more at ease. Diffuse the tension, as it were.”

“Not, er, not particularly.”

Sirius meets his eye again. Direct, pinning.

“I love you, Remus,” he says. “And perhaps objectively that isn't worth much, perhaps it is very self-important of me to think that it'd be worth anything to you at all. But I do, and to me it's worth – it's worth the whole lot. You're worth the whole lot. And I just want you to know that,” he finishes, softly.

"Sirius."

Remus takes in the young man before him, with his too-posh accent and the decidedly un-posh state of his hair, held up in a messy, crooked bun by a takeaway chopstick. The thick, square knuckles he’s always threatening to tattoo. The sloping set of his soft mouth, perpetually on the verge of a smile. The entire, familiar, miraculous whole of him.

Remus looks, and he looks, and he realizes that it isn’t really a decision after all. Or if it was, it was made long ago. Long ago, and all this time he’s been a complete and total idiot - holding back, waiting - and he doesn't think he can wait another moment.

At this point Remus abandons the search for words altogether, and just sort of - lunges.

One determined second of forward motion and then they’re kissing. Finally, finally, _finally_ kissing - Sirius beneath him, his hands clutching at Remus’ nape, and his mouth open and wet and fragrant under his Remus’ own. Moving against him. Moving with him.

Unfortunately, the rickety old chair Sirius is sitting on decides that the kissing is either too hasty or aggressive a maneuver, and gives out almost immediately. The only warning Remus gets is a sharp crack and Sirius mumbling ‘Oh, bollocks’ against his mouth before they find themselves in a graceless heap on the floor.

They stare at each other for a few beats, breathless, the air between them crackling, new.

Remus searches again for words, but he can still taste Sirius on his lips, and the result is distracting.

“Er,” he manages - quite eloquently given the circumstances, he thinks.

“So, ah.” Sirius pats his backside gingerly, checking for splinters. Finding none, he swallows and says, "As welcome as it was, you jumping me isn’t necessarily a clear indication of your feelings, and Marlene did impress on me the importance of thorough communication -"  

"Since when have you and Marlene been discussing the finer points of romantic diplomacy?"

"A few months. She said she noticed that I've had it quite bad for you for, well - fucking ages.” He shrugs. “Also we were partnered on a stake out in September and apparently there was little else I wanted to discuss for twelve solid hours. She had a lot to say on the matter as well - wanted to make sure I didn't 'cock it up.’ Her words, because when it comes to you I'd be rather happy to do just that, if you know what I -"

Remus rolls his eyes and cuts him off. "Quite bad?"

Sirius nods. His knee twitches where it’s stuck up under Remus thigh. Remus presses down against him, feels him relax.

"Oh, terribly. Quite terribly bad,” Sirius continues solemnly. “She could tell I needed critical guidance - a mentor in the arts of woo-age, if you will. A wise goblin to lead me to the treasures in your vault -”

“For Merlin’s sake, Sirius.”

“Clearly a reference to your heart, Re, get your mind out of the gutter. As I was saying, she knew I needed a Sherpa to help me mount your peaks -”

“Salazar's tits.”

“Now that one was purposely gutter-fodder, and pretty easy -”

“When is it ever har- difficult for you?”

Sirius winks at him. “Snazzy side-step, Moons, but no cigar. You have my steadfast assurance that when it comes to you, my darling Moonpants, it is always rock har-”

“Must you? Must you really?”

“Indeed I must must. Startlingly tardy confessions of love aside I’m still myself - you know I'm just going to keep nattering away until you stop me, yes? Of course you do. And you haven't actually responded to my original question, and I'm still quite nervous. I'm starting to go a bit peaky, actually - it feels like my eyelids are sweating, does it look-”

Remus reaches across the inches separating them and places a finger gently over Sirius’ lips. “This is me stopping you.”

He pulls his hand away, eyes glued to the spot he’d just touched.

Sirius blinks at him and swallows audibly. “Ok. Stopped. Arrested. Halted henceforth. Look, Re – what do you want? Because I'll give it to you, whatever sort of - even if it's not everything I want, that's alright, I just -"  

"I love you too." Remus smiles, unable to help himself. Unable to do anything else. "Obviously."

"Obviously? What, like loving me was a foregone conclusion?" Sirius asks, his own smile expanding with every word.  

"It sort of was,” Remus confesses, shrugging the one shoulder not squashed against the floor.

Sirius grin is so wide his eyes crinkle at the corners. "Oh."  

"You have very pretty hair, you see."

Sirius snorts and shoves at him, still grinning, and suddenly Remus can't bear not to be touching him.  

He clutches Sirius' shoulder hard, fingers curling into the weave of his jumper, and speaks to him in a rush. " _All of it_."

Sirius slides an arm around his side and pulls him in, his grip just as tight.

"Really?" he whispers, his breath ghosting across Remus' jaw, warm and chocolate scented.

"Yes,” Remus whispers back. “All – all of it."

Sirius presses their foreheads together and sighs.

"Okay. Merlin.” He sighs again, breath catching slightly. “I thought you might not - I wasn’t sure if you’d let me, before -” he cuts himself off and Remus feels his limbs tense, that ever-present fear creeping in on them; the unsaid ‘before it’s too late’ hanging over their heads, ominous as a noose.

Remus doesn’t let it between them this time. He pushes it away. He pushes himself closer.

“I’ll let you,” he says, leaning in so Sirius can feel the words against his lips, leaning in to distract them both. “I’ll even do it back.”

Sirius kisses him, a long breathless moment that leaves them both gasping.

“Okay,” Sirius pulls back to mumble, breath coming hard. “Okay that's – that's spiffing."  

Remus huffs a laugh, their noses bumping as his face shifts into another smile.  

"Shut up," Sirius growls, nipping at Remus’ lips in a slow, sharp way that makes heat zing up his spine.   

"I didn't say anything!" Remus giggles, sliding his hands up Sirius’ neck, conscious of the trembling in his fingers and doing it anyway.  

It’s cold on the floor, his elbow is bent at an odd angle over Sirius’ shoulder. There’s still a tickle of biscuit in the back of his throat, and his arse feels a bit bruised, and Remus suspects he won’t have trouble with casting a Patronus ever again.

He promptly wants to slap himself for thinking something so horribly idealistic, but the thought of Marlene and Dorcas’ shared smiles, James and Lily and the thing they’ve created between them, all their courage and their hopeful strength, bolsters him.

Remus has never felt particularly young, or rather that carefree indestructibility he associates with the idea of youth.

But Sirius lets out a happy sigh that Remus can taste, and tightens his grip, and he allows himself to feel it - a reckless sort of joy that swoops up in him, bright and shielding, more reckless in it’s self-awareness and braver for it too.

He pulls the chopstick free of Sirius’ hair, so that it falls in soft, black hanks around both of their faces. So that Remus can get his hands in it. Everything he’s ever wanted, between his two palms.

He takes up his courage and gathers it in.

He’ll let them have this.

He’ll do it anyway.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The delightful imagery of group bullying via chicken dancing courtesy of Arrested Development, of course. 
> 
> Also: Emmeline and Dorcas are super cool and super gay for each other, I don’t make the rules. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! <3  
> Chapter 5 coming at you asap, I promise.


	5. Remus Lupin v. Sirius’ Well-Formed Diction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all!! Real life is still the WORST and this took me far longer than it should have but here it is!! 
> 
> SO I don’t really write smut because I am an easily embarrassed, wilting cabbage of a person (a trait that doesn’t apply to reading smut, strangely enough) HOWEVER the end of this chapter does feature some, like, saucy mentions. Saucy-adjacent mentions. Ok - vaguely sexual jokes and some minimally descriptive snogging. There, I said it. You have now been advised. 
> 
> (I am gearing myself up because I think I would like there to be some smut in this fic? Maybe?? I enjoy challenging myself, but I also enjoy not melting into a puddle of self conscious mush?)
> 
> Advisory for more explicit mentions of the war and its dangers!! The gang is getting into the thick of it now, and as much as I’d like to stick solely with the humor and snogging I feel duty bound to explore the heavier elements of this time period for these characters. So you will find some feels and panic herein. But ALSO plenty of dick jokes to lighten the mood. And then a few more besides. Really I'm sorry about all the dick jokes. There's too many. My inner Sirius compels me.

December 21st, 1980 

* * *

 

Remus’ feet land on the cobblestones in a lurch, sliding on the thin film of snow that dusts the landscape around them. It had only been raining when they left London, but it’s clearly a few degrees colder this far north. 

Sirius reels him in by the elbow just before he topples, pulling him against the hard, familiar line of his body. 

“Steady on, Moons,” he tuts, smiling. “You always go wobbly during joint-apparition, why is that?” 

Remus rights himself fully, pulling back from Sirius just far enough to entwine their gloved fingers together and begin to tow him down the road. 

“I don’t  _ always _ \- and it’s just harder to concentrate with another person in tow, is all.” 

Sirius winks at him and squeezes his hand. “Ah, I see how it is. The distracting, titillating touch of your paramour consumes too much of your faculties, eh?” 

Remus snorts, the tip of his nose smarting in the bite of the chill wind. “Or perhaps it’s said paramour's failure to wash his oxters this morning.”

“So it’s  _ eau de Padfoot  _ that has you riled? Why, Remus, you filthy wee pervert.” 

Remus rolls his eyes but fails to supply any other retort; he quite likes the way Sirius smells, especially on a normal day like today. They’d spent the morning and most of the afternoon laying low at the flat, and Sirius smells of rich coffee, the clove cigarettes he’s taken to smoking on their fire escape, and the soft, somewhat spicy warmth of domestic magic - nothing like the fear-sweat reek and tang of dueling spells that follows one of his missions for the Order. 

Remus is rather fond of that smell too, though he’s positive the association has more to do with the heart-pounding relief of having Sirius back in his arms, safe and whole, than it does with any particular olfactory pleasure. 

All in all it’s been a quiet few weeks on the front. The Death Eater attacks have tapered off a bit of late, and though the quiet is tinged with unease - like the calm of still water, just before something breaks the surface from below - the reprieve from full-on violence has been more than welcome. 

Remus and Sirius are taking the fleeting lull as an opportunity to visit with James and Lily for the first time in ages; they’ve been in hiding with the baby off and on for months, communicating only via sporadic owl and Patronus. Remus himself hasn’t gotten to see Harry since his third month, and he’s filled with a melancholy eagerness to see how much the little man has already changed. 

James’ silver stag had popped into the flat he and Sirius still share with Peter that afternoon, inviting them to dinner at James’ mum’s and the chance to catch up face to face. They’d responded with alacrity, both of them eager for the contact and the prospect of a small shred of quasi-normalcy amidst the chaos of the past weeks. 

They trudge on up the lane towards where Sirius remembers the Potter’s cottage sitting, though the complicated wards prevent them from viewing it at this distance. 

Sirius pulls out his wand and sends his own Patronus bounding off with a message to signal their arrival, and a few minutes later they feel the wards shift, admitting them. They walk on towards the house, the purl of chimney smoke over the trees beckoning them, a beacon of comfort. 

“Can you believe it’s been a year we’ve been together?” Sirius asks as they walk briskly through the cold, his breath fogging in the air and mimicking the smoke up ahead. 

Remus registers the date and smiles. “Too long for you?”

“The blink of a doxy’s eye, my darling. When it comes to you I’m completely over the moon .” Sirius leans in to drop a kiss on his cheek, then noses close to his ear and continues, “And quite frequently _ under _ the moon, all told - you are insatiable.”

“ _ Sirius. _ ” 

“Oh, that’s good. Remind me to tell Prongs that one when we get there.” 

“I definitely will not.” 

James bursts through the door as they reach the footpath, rushing out into the falling snow to greet them, his lanky limbs practically windmilling in his haste. He flies at Sirius with a whoop of glee, enveloping him in a stranglehold of a hug that nearly lifts him off his feet. 

“Oh, thanks for coming to see us, lads,” he murmurs against Sirius’ shoulder, his bright, familiar grin wide on his face. 

“Who gives a toss about you?” Sirius exclaims, squeezing James tightly and peppering the side of his face with kisses. “I’m here to see my child - where is he?” 

“I think you mean my child,” James argues amiably, turning to fold Remus into his strong, wiry arms, the warmth of the house still clinging to his jumper. “‘Lo, old bean. Merlin, I’ve missed you.” 

Remus’ gladness lodges itself painfully in his throat, so he settles for mutely hugging James back, as tight as he can. 

“You can keep telling yourself that, Prongs,” Sirius says, winking over at Lily, who has appeared in the doorway, Harry on her hip. “But this ginger angel and I know the truth.”

Lily leans up to kiss Sirius’s cheek as he nears her. “That claim wouldn’t be so patently ridiculous if Harry didn’t look so much like a carbon copy of his father. Sometimes it’s hard to believe I was involved at all, aside from all the delightfully rosy contraction memories,” she laughs, disentangling Harry’s tiny, pudgy fist from her long hair so she can deposit him into Sirius’ reaching arms. 

“Well, he’s mine in spirit,” Sirius states confidently, beaming down with such joy it sets Remus’ own blood shimmering. 

“God, let’s hope not,” Remus teases around the happy lump in his throat, moving to enfold Lily in an embrace. 

She looks as beautiful as ever, her hair shining in the light from the hall behind her, her tiny frame ensconced cozily in one of James’ jumpers. The dark circles under her eyes are deeper than the last time Remus had seen her, but that’s not exactly surprising - given the ravages of new parenthood, and everything else she’s had to deal with lately. 

Remus’ heart leaps painfully at the sight of his three Potters, safe and smiling and close enough to touch. 

Sirius barrels into the house with Harry hoisted above his face, the two of them already giggling madly at one another. Remus follows them, Lily tucked close into one side and James on the other, wishing he’d never have to let go of either of them. 

They reach the kitchen to find Sirius and Harry folding a laughing Mrs. Potter into a bear hug in front of a table laden with pots of steaming food, spoons still stirring magically along in a few. 

They sit to eat; the warmth of the kitchen hearth, the spice of curry, and the craved companionship of his nearest and dearest filling Remus’ chest with a heavy balloon of contentment. 

As with any stolen peaceful moment these days, Remus can feel himself missing this night before it’s even over, struggling to tread un-sinking in the present wave of joy.  The normalcy they all crave is present, but only as a thin veneer. Wearing thinner as their teasing, jocular conversation skirts around friends they can’t bear to mention and looming struggles they can’t bear to think of; the incidents of the past months sharp barbs poking painfully through the cozy cloud of the evening. 

It’s there in the sadness weighting Mrs. Potter’s shoulders, the obvious lack of Mr. Potter at her side. In the way she holds Harry tightly, looking like she’d clutch at him if she’d let herself. 

It’s there in the way that James doesn’t seem to want to allow any physical distance between himself and Lily, hovering by her chair or reaching out to lay a hand on a shoulder or knee, even as he jokes with Sirius and dances around pretending to interfere with Mrs. Potter’s final touches to the meal. 

It’s there, and it’s obvious, but they all do an admirable job of ignoring it. James’ bright grin flashes almost as much as Remus remembers from their school days, and it heats him from the inside out like a cup of strong tea. Bolstering him further is the calm happiness in Sirius’ eyes, and the way they seek his own out across the table time and time again.  

After supper the group of them linger in the kitchen, loathe to relinquish the active intimacy of this particular room. 

Remus helps Lily with the cleanup, both preferring to do the chores the muggle way - which seems to simultaneously entertain and exasperate Mrs. Potter, whom they have forcibly  installed back into her chair with a mug of Earl Grey. 

Remus pushes up his sleeves to reach into the soapy water of the sink. After a moment Lily reaches over, heedless of the suds, to slide warm, gentle fingers over the deep bite scar on his left forearm, her brow furrowed in concern. 

“That’s new,” she comments lowly, her voice just audible over the rush of the tap. 

Remus nods eyes still focused on the dish in his hands. “Last month - pack in Snowdonia.”

The concern in her voice has a hard edge, but Remus knows it’s not directed at him. “Dumbledore’s still asking that of you?” 

Remus shrugs. “Not as if he can ask anyone else.”

“Remus -”

“I’m alright, Lil,” he cuts her off, keeping his voice quiet enough that the others can’t hear. He’s already had this discussion with Sirius a thousand times and he doesn’t want to upset him again. Not tonight. 

Lily tuts, looking down at the bowl in her grasp as she wipes it dry. “I just don’t understand why he’d keep - it’s just so dangerous.” 

“It’s dangerous for everyone,” he points out, though his stomach pulls up tight and painful the longer they discuss it; it’s the sort of thing that he tries to avoid thinking about, when it isn’t happening. 

Lily nods solemnly, looking up at him. Into him. “Yes, but we’re never sent out alone.” 

It’s the truth, but an unavoidable one. The other truth being that he wouldn’t subject anyone else to his missions, even if he could. Even if the prospect of going out again - into terror and secrets and abject loneliness - makes him want to press his face into Lily’s hair and shake. 

It’s the sort of thing he tries not to think too much about, even when it _ is _ happening. And it’s especially not something he wants to think on now, with his hands warm in the soapy water, with his body warm in this cozy house, with his spirit warm in the company of his friends. Thinking now of where he could be this time next week - he’s not sure he could bear it. 

Instead he looks away from her concerned gaze, refocusing himself to the simple task before him and the simple conversation of the others behind them. 

“Can you believe it’s almost Christmas? Where on earth does the time go,” James sighs, and Remus can tell without looking that he’s scrubbing his hands through his hair, making it into more of a unruly tangle than usual. 

“Well this year it’s mostly gone to nappies and sleepless nights,” Lily responds, a lovely humor in her voice as she tactfully avoids mention any of the darker things this year has brought with it. 

Remus feels his body relax again. None of the rest of them hurry to remind her. 

“I was just saying to Re on our way in - it is the first anniversary of our love this evening!” 

Remus turns to see Sirius beaming across the table at him, chin propped on his palm. 

“One year ago today I fell arse over tit for this cardigan-loving, prime specimen of humanity - give or take half a decade or so.” He winks. 

Remus winks back, letting himself glow a bit as he dries his hands on a tea towel. “That long, eh?” he prods, knowing the answer and wanting to hear it anyway. 

“Longer.” Sirius beams at him. “I just kept it under wraps for a bit.” 

James snorts. “Did you Lu-pine for him? Never mind, I know you did, obviously - you were truly pathetic there for a while.”

“That’s a bit pot-kettle, Prongs, don’t you think? Considering all Evans would have to do is glance at you for you to go all weepy and pitiful. ‘She’s so amazing, she’s so radiant, blah blah blah’ - you were an utter disaster.” 

“He was,” Mrs. Potter interjects warmly. “Spent so much time draping himself mournfully over furniture and sighing - it was like living with a Victorian heroine.” She smirks at her son, a soft fondness in her dark eyes that belies her teasing tone. 

James sticks out his tongue at her briefly. “Yes, well I managed it in the end. We are married - and with a baby too!”

“True, though I’m the one who actually proposed, if you recall,” Lily points out before taking a swig from the butterbeer she and Remus have been sharing. 

“I started it!” 

“Yes, but then you were sobbing so hard I had to finish it.”

“It was just so romantic,” James murmurs, pressing a hand to his chest, his eyes going glazed and wistful. 

“It was in a Tescos,” Lily reminds him. 

“It was,” James sighs, beatific. 

“In the car park.” 

“It was!” 

Sirius echos James’ sigh and dreamy expression. “Ah, Tescos.” 

Remus catches Lily’s eye and they grin at one another. Sirius and James’ ongoing reverence for the muggle grocer is still a bit of a mystery - possibly something to do with their pureblood upbringing, or perhaps with a vague and jumbled retelling of an incident involving a massive joint, a half-smushed chocolate sheet cake, and a kindly, put upon cashier woman. 

“Anyway,” Sirius says, in a tone that makes it clear he means to take back the reins of the conversation. “As I was saying, I can’t believe it’s been a year since I managed to bag the venerable Remus Lupin.” 

“We all are, you fat-headed lump,” James interrupts. 

“Yes, well, I did. I’m obviously exceedingly -” 

“Lucky,” James interjects.  

“- charming,” Sirius finishes.

“That too,” they both add, in unison. 

“Regardless, I’m quite  _ over the moon _ ,” Sirius says, exaggerating the last three words and winking around at no one in particular. Remus rolls his eyes at him. 

James tilts his head to the side and squints back and forth between the two of them. “Is that some sort of bad joke about who tops?” 

Remus and Lily quickly hoist their wands and jinx him together, while Sirius collapses in an answering fit of giggles against the cabinets beside the sink. 

James spends the next several minutes waiting for his ears to turn back the right way around. 

“Merlin, that itches,” he whines, rubbing at them. “ But honestly, the only part I can’t believe about your fated romance is how long it took you louts to do anything about it.” 

“Agreed,” Lily offers, tucking her bright hair behind one ear and depositing herself into James’ lap. “You were dragging on a bit.” 

James nods. “The sexual tension was unbearable for a few years there - came close to adding Veritaserum to your drinks and getting you to spill the lusty beans, but Lily convinced me it wouldn’t be a very matey move on my part.”

“I believe the word I used was ‘unethical.’”

“Regardless, it would have worked! The emotionally-constipated elephant in the room was suffocating us all - a few little drops of potion in your morning pumpkin juice would have saved everyone a lot of grief. ‘Sirius, are you arse over tit for Remus’ pert backside and charming wit?’ ‘Absolutely, he is my everything, my all, my  _ raison d’etre _ ,” he intones dramatically, in a rather high-pitched imitation of Sirius’ voice, continuing, “‘Remus, don’t you want to inhale Sirius’ handsome knob like Peter with a Christmas pud?’ ‘Of course I do, he is the physical manifestation of all my bodily and romantic desires - the boggart of my heart, if you will.’ Bing, bang, boom, and you would have lived happily ever after a few good years ahead of the curve - and even better I’d have been personally involved! You know I hate being left out.” 

“So sorry we managed to sort ourselves out without such considerate, careful intervention,” Remus comments dryly. “Such a loss to have missed out on your cupidic prowess.”

James shrugs. “I would have made it romantic - thrown rose petals over you at the critical moments. Recited ‘Ode to a Grecian Urn’ while you shoved your tongues down each other’s gullets. Something.” 

“Charming.” 

Mrs. Potter then enlists Remus’ and Lily’s help rolling Kachori for them all to take home, the three of them nursing mugs of steaming tea and quietly taking in the parade of chaos that is James and Sirius in proximity. 

They watch as the two of them attempt to reenact scenes from the muggle movie they’ve been obsessed with since the Spring; the both of them prancing around the room, seeming to leave plot by the wayside in favor of impressions, and alternately calling upon Harry’s tiny services as costar and prop. 

Remus himself remembers very little about the film in question. They’d been to many around that time, as it was during the phase of her pregnancy where Lily was craving buttered popcorn - with mint jelly, of all the ghastly things. James and Sirius had dragged the two of them to five or six showing of one particular picture, but Remus had found the subsequent viewings more suited to a nap than anything else. 

If he’s remembering correctly it generally had to do with space pirates, and perhaps something about a sickly-looking house elf that teaches martial arts? The only movie Sirius had liked more was the one about the singing aliens with the wheelie clogs. 

At one point James and Sirius start arguing over who gets to hold Harry during a particular scene, both escalating in volume and ridiculousness while Harry laughs his tiny head off between them. 

James transfigures an empty bottle of Canola oil into a little black mask he fits carefully to Harry's wee face while Sirius looks on in feigned exasperation. 

“Give the wee bean to me, you dolt - I’m the one who knows a thing or two about unpleasant fathers,” Sirius grouses. “And while on the subject of paternal disappointment -” 

"Yeah, your dad was a right shit," James interrupts, still fussing over Harry, who is giggling madly behind the mask. 

"I was talking about you!” Sirius exclaims, attempting to shoo James away from Harry’s head. “Look at the state of this awful helmet. It looks nothing like Vader's! What absolute rubbish, Prongs."  

James frowns. "Well it's sort of a weird shape overall, innit? I was going for an 'upside down, stemless goblet' type situation -"  

"It looks like a muggle prophylactic."  

"And how would _ you  _ know -"  

"And you forgot the most important part, anyhow,” Sirius adds. He gently taps his wand to the top of the odd headgear, and the slightly muffled, chirping baby giggles that had been emitting from beneath it drop instantly into baritone, metallic chuckles.

“Will you two settle down,” Lily scolds them, but with a smile in her voice. She plucks Harry deftly away from between them and settles him on her lap. “You’ll get him too riled up to nurse properly.” 

Remus gets his turn with Harry after his dinner, as they all settle down for a last cuppa; all of them very obviously lingering over their teas in the hopes of forestalling their goodbyes.  

Remus tucks Harry in closer to his chest, his tiny little heartbeat fluttering against the palm Remus has pressed to his back. Harry always sleeps when Remus is holding him.

It never fails to strike Remus as short of miraculous, this evidence that Harry feels so comfortable in his arms. That he feels  _ safe _ there. 

He wishes he could hold him longer. 

When he and Sirius rise to go, Harry doesn’t wake. Remus passes him back to Lily through the means of a hug, arms coming around one another gently, Harry pressed cozily between. 

Mrs. Potter lingers over her goodbye with Sirius, holding his face between her gold-ringed hands and murmuring something to him that makes his expression go somber and tight. 

Sirius’ goodbye with James is mostly quiet; they hold one another for a long while, pulling back to look silently into the other’s face. As if there are questions they wish they could ask, but know they cannot. 

Remus knows something passed between them a few months ago - some sort of decision straining them but ultimately settled peaceably. Remus can tell that no ill will resulted from it, but a sort of complex strain had sprung up between them that hadn’t ever existed before. 

Remus had been there for the sleepless nights while Sirius had agonized over whatever it was, and though he had had his guesses, Remus hadn’t wanted to push the matter. 

He understands that Sirius would have confided in him, had he been able to. He’s certain of it. 

“Keep in touch, you plonkers,” Lily tells them at the door, a brightness to her eyes that makes it difficult for Remus to look directly at her, feeling the wet heat prick at his own. “And tell Peter to check in, when he’s able.” 

He and Sirius have an unspoken agreement to walk a ways before apparating back to London, not wanting to leave a traceable magical signature so close to the house, and their hands find one another as they trudge out into the night once more. The snow has stopped, but the cold has deepened with the falling dark. 

“The flat’s going to be freezing.” Sirius shivers. “Peter owled that he’ll be off for another night or two.” 

“Mhmm.”

Pete’s not around the flat much, these days. Sometimes he’s accompanying a mission for the Order. Other times, Remus isn’t so sure. 

It makes him uneasy; a strange, half-feeling like the pain of a sore tooth. Something he wants to poke at and shy away from simultaneously.  After all, it’s not as if he can be fully forthcoming about all of his activities either.

Secrets mean safety, these days. It’s the way it has to be. 

But. 

He and Sirius share a quick look, but neither of them say anything. Remus can’t bring himself to voice his concerns - he feels horrible and traitorous enough just thinking them. He’s not even sure where exactly they’ve come from, or when they’d first cropped up, a virulent but quiet whisper in the back of his head. 

But they’re there, nonetheless. 

“And you leave?” Sirius asks in a small voice, distracting him. 

Remus squeezes his hand through two layers of wool. “Two days.” 

Sirius sighs. “I’m still waiting to hear from Minnie, but I’ll likely get sent out with Mad Eye again sometime at the end of the week.” 

“You know she’d flay you if she heard you calling her that,” Remus tells him, choosing to respond to the bit of Sirius’ remark that doesn’t make him want to clutch at him and tremble. 

Sirius snorts. “Just with her eyes, and her heart wouldn’t be in it - she adores me, really. A man knows these things.” 

“Oh, yes. Meanwhile it took you five years to catch on to the fact that I wanted to - how did James put it? ‘Inhale your knob like a Christmas pud’? Quite a lyrical turn of phrase, that.” 

Sirius snorts again. “I knew - I just didn’t know I knew. I think I was blinded by my own feelings.” 

Remus squeezes his hand once more. “Me too.” 

“Wow, when did we get so sappy?” Sirius huffs on a breath of laughter that ghosts warmth against the side of Remus’ face. “We sound like James.” 

“Maybe he should have dosed us after all,” Remus concedes, tugging on Sirius’ arm a bit to usher him faster along. “C’mon, let’s pick up the pace - and we should apparate as soon as we cross the next set of wards. I don’t fancy another run in with those rogue Dementors - it’s already cold enough out here, for one. My nadgers are about to pull a wonky faint.” 

“Wronski Feint.”

“Whatever.” 

“Eh, we’ll be fine - they haven’t been spotted in weeks. Besides, you’re aces at Patronus and I can transform, that always helps a bit,” Sirius says, then chuckles a bit to himself. “At least if they try to suck Snuffles soul they'll probably end up with a hairball.”

Pulls his hand out of Sirius’ to cup them in front of his face and blow warm breath into them, his mood souring in a sudden shift. “Could you possibly not joke about this?”

Sirius reaches out and grabs his shoulder, shaking him a bit. “No, I shan't. Making light of the abjectly-terrifying-cum-depressing is my last indulgence.” 

“That's rich,” Remus scoffs back.  

A warm hand slides down and takes a firm hold of Remus’ left buttock. 

“Alright, so I may have one other,” Sirius relents with a sigh. 

Then the hand moves to the right and pinches. 

“Or perhaps two.” 

Remus squirms out of his reach, though not far, amusement and irritation warring in his chest. “Will you desist!” 

“Never!”

Remus looks toward him, his breath suddenly caught hard in his throat. Sirius beside him is just a silhouette in the darkness; stark lines, soft breath; every detail of him etched resolutely from the air, solid and within Remus’ reach. 

It incongruously makes Remus feel like he’s dissolving. 

It seems at once impossible, and all too likely that all every aspect of this man beside him is could vanish with the quick flick of a wand. 

The terror and elation of the last year tugs heavily at Remus’ heartstrings; these twelve months encompass the happiest and most frightened he’s ever been, and at the center of every one of his feelings is Sirius Black. 

Remus would have thought it was impossible to love him more, until he did. Until Sirius was in every breath he took, and a few more besides. 

It’s unsettling. It’s exhilarating. It’s like Old Magic - visceral, and deep, and not entirely pleasant. The idea of being parted from him is as unfathomable a concept as cleaving his own soul into separate pieces. 

Rapidly the fear wins out, and Remus’ feet stop underneath him of their own accord. 

He wants to press his hands against his own chest to stop his innards from spilling out. He wants to press his hands over every inch of Sirius’ body, assuring himself of Sirius’ safe and living skin - every cell of him cherished and protected, even if for mere minutes, seconds -  _ just one more _ . 

“What - what’s the matter?” Sirius pauses too, looking back at him. Remus feels his focus go pointed, sharp; he feels him reach for his wand. 

“It’s f-fine - it’s nothing,” Remus grits out. “Well, it’s not nothing, I just -” 

He swallows noisily and Sirius steps in closer, concern radiating off him in waves. 

“Sirius,” he tries again, and it’s a plea - though for what, Remus doesn’t know. 

Only, as ever, Sirius seems to understand what he means. 

He reholsters his wand and touches his now free hand to Remus’ face, petting lightly against his cheekbone - smoothing, seeking, mapping him in the dark 

Remus closes his eyes, though it’s a futile gesture in such comprehensive dimness of the night. He takes a deep breath and tries to explain himself to the both of them.

“This - us. It cuts me open. It’s a haven, it is. But it’s also - it’s also - I -”

He cuts himself off, the words as tangled inside of him as the feelings propelling them.  

He thinks, bizarrely, of the muggle circus his mum had brought him to when he was eight; of the tightrope walkers and their incongruous balancing poles. At the time Remus had looked on in incomprehension - surely carrying something so heavy would only increase the likelihood of a tragic fall? He hadn’t understood, then, the strange magic of their physics. 

He’s still not sure he does now. 

Sirius drops the hand down to Remus’ neck, palm flat against the pulse-point under his jaw and his fingers curling around the back toward his nape. They still there for a second before Sirius deliberately shifts his fingertips to slide under the collar of Remus’ coat, to rest warmly against his skin, nothing between them. 

Sirius makes a small noise, and Remus can tell without being able to see it that he’s smiling. 

“A bit like going starkers under a fur coat, isn’t it?” 

Remus lets out a dry huff of laughter. “I haven’t even a modicum of a frame of reference for that, but it sounds reasonable.” 

Sirius squeezes their still-entwined hands together. “I understand. I’m scared too. But this -” he squeezes again “-  _ this _ is so much stronger than fear. I  _ know _ that. We’re better off together, no matter what happens.” 

Remus sighs. He thinks of the looks in James’ and Lily’s eyes: the anxiety in them, and the fire. The bravery in them that has always and will always win out over the terror. 

He leans forward to rest his forehead against the cold shoulder of Sirius’ coat. “Yes. Yes, that’s true.”

Sirius moves his hand from Remus’ neck to wrap tightly around his back, pulling them flush together - solid and real and still with him. Balancing him against the waiting depths. 

“So feel free to let your bits dangle, Moon-pants,” he huffs out against Remus’ cold cheek. “Snuffles will be here to keep you warm.” 

Remus nuzzles his nose against the tickling weave of Sirius’ scarf. “What repulsive imagery you manage to spin out of quite a lovely moment.” 

“We all have our talents.”

“Though the illusion to Snuffles as a walking fur coat is extremely apt - have you seen the state of our shower drain recently?” 

“I blame Peter. He’s got that bald patch starting - poor chap.” 

They apparate to back to London, popping back into existence in a dark alley in Soho, still a ways from their apartment. 

They walk a few blocks before attempting another jump, the streetlights glowing down on them, yellow and pearly through the cold mist in the air. 

“Re.” Sirius tugs on Remus’ hand, using it like a tether to jostle them against one another. 

“Yes?” Remus tries to trip him up in retaliation and fails. 

“I think you’re dead sexy.”

“I think you had too much cider with dinner.”

“This has nothing to do with liquor and everything to do with lust - I’m on the pash.”

“You’re certainly on something.”

“I _ could _ be on something, if you’d hurry up and take me home already.” He noses at Remus’ cheek, insistent. “It’s you. I could be on you,” he adds.  

“Yes, I gathered that,” Remus says, trying again to shove a boot between Sirius’ and the wet pavement. “We’re going as fast as we can - remember, the more scattered the apparition the better. They’ve been tracking jumps so it’s best if we walk a bit in between to throw the signatures off.” 

“Yes, I know. Safety first.” Sirius yawns hugely, the neon from a shop sign making his teeth glow blue, then red. “Merlin, I’m knackered. If you would do me a favor when we get home and just lie still while I drape myself all over you, that would be lovely. Bonus points if you pet my hair a bit.” 

“So pretty much what we do every night?”

“Yes, please. I have a good idea for what we can do after that, as well. A very good idea.”

“Is this an actual good idea, or is this a ‘good idea’ like that time you wanted to use broomstick polish as lubricant?” 

“They do say necessity is the mother of invention.” 

“And desperation the father of idiocy.” 

“It would have worked! And desperate times do call for desperate measures - and given that my Desperate measures a good nine inches, it wouldn’t have been wise to -” 

“Are you congenitally shameless or are you just trying it on for size?” 

“Wizengamot’s still out on that,” Sirius says, leaning into him again. He noses at the spot behind his ear that never fails to make Remus shiver, even when they aren’t trudging through a frozen, foggy city in the middle of the night. 

“On second thought you don’t have to be still - I quite like you squirmy,” Sirius murmurs in response to Remus’ involuntary tremble, before lightly sinking his teeth into Remus’ neck. 

This time Remus gives a full body shudder. He wriggles away slightly, admonishing, “Could you wait ‘til we get back to the flat before you start that up?” 

Sirius reels him in once more. “I’m afraid it’s out of my hands entirely - you’re too irresistible.”

Remus rolls his eyes. “Yes, I’m sure the sight of me shivering in wet wool with a leaky beak is completely arousing.” 

“It most assuredly is. I can barely stand to keep my frozen appendages off you. You’re simply fetching.”

“If anyone’s fetching it’s you.” 

“Is that a dog pun?” 

“If the snout fits.” 

“If the snout  _ is _ fit - am I as handsome a dog as I am a human?” 

“For the millionth time, Sirius, I am not answering that.” 

“Oh, am I barking up the wrong tree? The very wrong, dirty, perv-tastic tree?” 

“Eugh!”

“You know people probably assume that we get up to certain activities during full moon nights. Heavy petting, if you catch my dri-” 

“For fuck’s sake, stop. If that’s what people are thinking then people are a bloody fucking pervert. And which people? No one knows about -”

“James, Lily, Peter,  _ Snape _ -”

“Oh lovely, now I’m not only forced to think about us doing - that - but to think about Snape thinking about us doing that. Bloody fantastic. You know I was sort of getting in the mood there for split second, but now that you’ve gone and metaphorically weed all over it -”

“My my, from doggy style to golden showers - you truly are the sexual dark horse of our generation, Mr. Lupin.”

“You are unbearable. Truly, bar none.”

“Yes, but you’re the one who loves me. So, you know - bully for you, you strange creature.” 

Remus attempts a snort, but it comes out as a rather wet sneeze. 

Sirius pretends to swoon, grabbing at Remus’ waist with cold-clumsy fingers. “That’s it! I must have you. Get your kit off.” 

“That’s your nuanced attempt at seduction? Shouting ‘get your kit off’ at me in the middle of the street?” 

“I thought you said this morning that foreplay was overrated?” 

“I believe what I said was ‘stop faffing about with that scarf and get on with it already.’ You’d been prancing around for half an hour -” 

“It was a strip tease!” 

“You were already naked!” 

Sirius leers at him, eyebrows and lashes dotted with tiny drops of moisture. “Remember that do you?”

“It’s a hard mental image to shake - where did you even get a Ravenclaw scarf in the first place?”

“That’s what you were wondering? I was giving you the show of your young life and you were questioning my sartorial sources?” 

“Er, it wasn’t the only thing I was thinking,” Remus hedges, feeling his frost-chapped cheeks go an even deeper red. 

Sirius leans in, nosing along Remus’ jaw. “Oh yeah? What else, hmm?” he prods, voice gone low and suggestive. 

“Erm - ” 

Sirius sighs. “You know the point of dirty talk is that you actually say things - audibly, with your mouth, out loud.” 

“Ah, I take it back - go ahead and do the dance, I won’t stop you.”

“Remus.” 

“Or I could do the dance, even.” 

“You’re such a ‘fraidy-kneazle! I’m not saying you have to start throwing around words like ‘throbbing’ -” 

“Merlin forbid.” 

“Or ‘engorged’ -” 

“Oh my giddy aunt - please stop.” 

“I just don’t think it would kill you to articulate a few choice sentiments in the boudoir.” 

“It has nothing to do with sentiment, and we are most definitely not in the boudoir.” Remus gestures to the darkened, mist-slicked street around them, shivering. “I just don’t see that -  _ that _ requires discussion,” he sniffs. “Seems like the perfect opportunity to be nonverbal, if you ask me.” 

“That what is the perfect opportunity to be nonverbal?” Sirius wheedles, leaning in close again. 

“You know. Erm.” 

“Shagging? You can’t even say it, can you? C’mon Re - you can do it! I believe in you! Rodgering, buggery, rumpy pumpy, knob gymnastics -” 

“When has the term ‘knob gymnastics’ ever been used as an attempt to be seductive? In fact, when has the term ‘knob gymnastics’ ever been uttered before this exact moment?” 

“Perhaps you’d prefer a more ambiguous euphemism? Make the beast with two backs, bury the hatchet, hide the _ petite saucisse _ , un-gird your loins, go see a man about a prostate-stimulated orgasm -” 

“Oh, will you just -” 

Remus decides that they’ve walked far enough. He pulls Sirius in roughly by his coat collar, silencing him with a kiss, and apparates them, mid-sentence, to the hallway outside their flat’s door. 

It’s a hasty maneuver, and likely ill-advised, but goes smoothly nonetheless, the wards admitting them with a muffled pop as they stagger over the welcome mat. 

This time Remus uses the stumble to his advantage - bearing his weight against Sirius’ chest to back him against door with a clattering bang. 

The cold clinging to them dissipates quickly with the added friction. Remus nips at the curve of Sirius’ jaw, pushing even closer. Pushing the cold away.

“Get  _ your _ kit off,” he growls, voice muffled against skin. 

Sirius groans and arches against him. 

“See?” he hisses, grinning. “That can’t have been too hard.” 

Remus smiles against his lips, their teeth catching. “Shut up.” 

Sirius giggles unreservedly. “And speaking of hard -” 

Remus performs a wandless unlocking spell and fumbles for the doorknob behind Sirius’ back. They go tumbling into the apartment as the door swings open, landing shoulders-first on the rug in the den with a muffled thwump.

Remus spares a quick look toward Peter’s bedroom door; it’s been left ajar, the space beyond dark and lifeless. There’s a quick pang of thought in response to the sight, but it disappears with the distracting movement of Sirius’ hips hitching against his own. 

Remus hisses at the sensation, feeling another jolt and hearing a wooden thump as Sirius kicks the front door shut with heel of his boot. 

Remus turns his head away from Peter’s door and back to the task at hand. 

He pulls Sirius’ wand out of his waistband and casts a quick silencing spell on behalf of the neighbors. Their wards are likely buffer enough, but Remus doesn’t mind throwing up a few extra precautions. Especially given just how deeply Sirius  _ doesn’t _ share Remus’ views on discretion in intimacy. Which all in all is about as surprising as the nose on a niffler. 

“Remus,” Sirius groans, pulling him in by the back of the neck, their winter layers caught and tugging between them.  

Remus doesn’t reply. 

When it gets down to it, he prefers to put his mouth to better uses, is all. 

This time Sirius doesn’t complain. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!! <3


	6. Remus Lupin v. Needs That Must

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, all! 
> 
> *** TWarning for this chapter: though the deaths happened prior to this chapter, the murder of James and Lily do take place in this AU, in correspondence to canon. This chapter is set in December of 1981, meaning James and Lily have been dead for two months, and that Harry is aged 1 year 5 months. We have now officially hit 'Sirius and Remus Raise Harry AU' territory, so besides Voldemort's attack on the Potters' home and Peter's role in it, the rest of the story will veer from canon steadily from this point. I have updated the tags to reflect the AU status and the off-screen character deaths that accompany it. 
> 
> Additional warnings for: more saucy mentions, discussion of grief and the off-screen character deaths, and geriatric thievery (theft of). 
> 
> This chapter likely should have been exciting, but I think I got too distracted by conversations a) about the proper taxonomy of plush animals, b) that devolve into heavy petting. ‘Less plot, more puns and gay cuddling’ is my personal mantra. I have a hard time being mad at myself about that.

**December 21st, 1981**

* * *

 

Remus turns the tap on again, adding another splash of hot water to the murky depths of the sink. He’d had trouble sleeping, deciding to make himself useful with a few neglected chores rather than tossing and turning next to Sirius and risk waking him too.

He scrubs the surface of a plate absentmindedly, watching the sun rise through the kitchen window, its lukewarm December light steadily spreading over the rooftops that crowd their building.  

Doing dishes the muggle way always makes him think of his mum; of kneeling on a stool next to her at the counter, carefully taking each freshly cleaned plate from her and drying them with a soft, well-worn cloth.

He feels himself smile at the memory, an odd and rusty feeling after the numbness of the past two months.

Another memory, more recent, of he and Lily standing in front of Mrs. Potter’s sink stops his smile cold. He swallows against the bile rising in his throat.

His grief is a hungry, hunting thing that prowls constantly around him; never going far, always within view. He tries his best not to look directly at it, attempting to hold still until it passes on. He knows it will set its teeth in him eventually, but he can’t help trying to stall the inevitable.

It’s cowardly, he supposes, but he’s never been the bravest of their lot. That title always fell to -

He cuts his thought off before it completes itself; looking away. All at once exhaustion floods him, and he closes his eyes against the tingling wave of it. He wonders if he should give up his task and get back into bed.

The warmth of the dishwater recalls the warmth of Sirius’ skin under his hands, the craving of it aching suddenly in his gut.

Kaleidoscopic memories clatter through the exhausted fog in his brain.

Sirius' shoulder shaking with silent laughter against his own as the four of them shuffled along under the cloak, giddy and clumsy in their teenage limbs; Sirius shuddering underneath him as he comes, hot and pulsing, between them; Sirius vibrating with the silent, wracking tremors of his own grief, trying to keep still, to keep quiet. Trying not to wake Harry.  

Remus stifles his thoughts again, loosening his grip on the sudsy mug he’s holding as it gives an ominous crack beneath his hands.

Suddenly, behind him, Sirius’ soft voice breaks into the calm silence of the room.

“If you had asked me at sixteen what was the most flagrantly erotic scenario imaginable, I would have been picturing Kingsley Shacklebolt shirtless on a racing broom. But lo, the most loin inflaming sight on Merlin’s green earth is in fact: Remus Lupin doing dishes in a beige cardigan.”

Remus doesn’t turn, continuing his scrubbing over the sound of Sirius’ feet shuffling across the floor toward him.

He feels another smile tug at his lips, despite himself and his fatigue.

“Flaming loins, eh? Might I suggest a topical potion?”

Sirius huffs a snort against Remus’ neck as he wraps his arms around him from behind. He squeezes him once, then slides his hands down Remus’ sides until they come to rest burrowed in Remus’ cardigan pockets.

Remus leans back against him with a sigh. “You aren't going to find one in there.”

He feels Sirius’ smile against his nape.

“Just warming up my hands,” comes his whispered huff.  

They lapse into silence for several minutes, Sirius’ chin hooked over Remus’ shoulder and his breath coming in warm gusts against his cheek. Remus’ socked feet curl against the cold linoleum, the water-pruned pads of his fingers slipping over the surface of another plate as he rinses it clean.

“Come back to bed, Re,” Sirius whispers against him again. “It’s too bloody early, and the bed is cold without you - come on.”

Remus unstoppers the drain and lets himself be towed down the hall toward his now-shared bedroom.

In an unspoken agreement the two of them pause at the threshold of Sirius’ old room, peering in at a sleeping Harry, curled up in a tight, tiny ball in the middle of the crib Remus had transfigured from Sirius’ clunky old headboard. His breathing, barely audible from where they stand, calms something deep in Remus’ chest.

Despite himself, Remus glances across the hall toward the bare patch of wall where Peter’s bedroom door had stood.

Sirius had taken one look at it when they’d returned that night, his face tight and impassive, and had vanished the door entirely with a single sharp flick of his wand. Remus supposes all of Peter’s possessions are still shut up behind the smooth, peeling paint of the wall, collecting dust. He won’t be coming back for them, in any case.

Looking back in at Harry - at the fragile, softly-rising lump of his back under the covers - Remus can’t bring himself to feel sorry about that.  

He wonders briefly whether he should; if he has it in him to feel any regret about it now, or if the gaping maw of his grief has swallowed his guilt whole, once and for all.

He can still feel the snap of the curse down his arm, the blood-hot tang of its magic in the air. He can still feel that burning, twisted anger and the way it had fed adrenaline into his limbs – the way it hadn’t been _enough_ , the way that he had wished, vehemently and for the very first time in his life, that he could transform at will. That he could have had the means, the _excuse_ , to tear Peter limb from limb - to set his own teeth into Peter's throat and _rip_ -

He pushes the thought aside, diligently this time, and tugs on Sirius’ hand.

They climb back into their narrow bed, burrowing under the quilts to lie still for a while, holding each other and kissing lazily.

After a few moments Sirius’ stomach gives a loud growl, startling a giggle out of them both.

“What should we do for lunch, d’you reckon?” Remus asks around a yawn. “We have toast and tea for breakfast, but we’re running low on everything else.”

“I think I have almost all we’d need to make Daal - except for the inclination to cook or indeed be vertical for any extended period of time,” Sirius sighs, turning his head toward their window and the dreary, graying morning beyond it. His head is a warm weight on Remus’ chest. “I suppose there’s always takeaway.”

“Mhmm,” Remus agrees. He slides a hand into Sirius’ hair, petting him slightly, marveling at the silky softness of it, thinking how curious it is that the texture seems to hold over in his animagus form.

Sirius spends quite a few nights as a dog, these days; curled into a tight ball at Remus’ side, his cold nose pressed close and snoring against the back of Remus’ neck. Remus suspects it helps to keep the nightmares at bay. He wishes he could do the same.

Sirius yawns wide, his breath warm against Remus’ sternum.

“Though Mrs. Potter would be furious if she knew,” he mutters into the thin weave of Remus’ t-shirt. “All those hours she spent teaching me the recipe.”

“I don’t think she’d mind,” Remus assures him, thinking of the soft look in Mrs. Potter’s eyes as she’d looked at her adoptive son.

She’d passed away earlier this Spring, having contracted the same strain of Dragon Pox that had killed her husband the year prior. Remus grieves for her too, but is also deeply, morbidly glad she hadn’t lived to see James’ -

Remus sighs heavily, dragging his traitorous mind away from that line of thought once again.

“So do you want to?” Sirius asks. “I can pop across the street, you can stay cozy up here. We can set Haz up and then eat the rest of it in bed. These sheets need a wash anyway, a little curry won’t hurt. We’ve nothing else we need do today.”

A great, breaking rush of bittersweet joy surges through Remus’ chest at Sirius’ words.

It strikes him what a gift this is, this moment of generic, domestic peace. How lucky they are to have this, to have each other, still. How lucky he is to have anything at all.

After the wreckage of the last few years, the lives laid waste to violence, sickness, and time. The loves that had been torn from their grasp with all the grace and gentleness of a badly ripped seam.

That he could still have Sirius - that he had ever gotten him in the first place - strikes Remus as nothing short of miraculous.  

He wraps his arms tighter around Sirius and mumbles into his mussed hair, worried his voice might break if he tried to speak any louder, “I cannot describe just how passionately I want to do nothing but eat takeaway in bed with you.”

Sirius tips his head back until their eyes meet. He looks at him with the soft smile that wrinkles the skin around his eyes; the warm smile that does funny things to Remus’ ability to breathe normally.

Remus feels his cheeks tinge without knowing exactly why. “What?”

Sirius grins wider. “It's just normally you have such a startled thestral quality to you, when discussing things of a rrrromantic nature,” he says, rolling the ‘r’ exaggeratedly and wiggling his eyebrows. “But then occasionally you come out with these desperately sappy little one liners and it's like someone dosed my heart with Pepper Up. Goes all warm and tingly and mentholated -”

“Mentholated?”

“You know what I mean. You make me very happy, Re.”

Remus’ heart twists up again with so much anguished gladness that he’s surprised it doesn’t stop.

“Oh,” he says, then swallows around the hard lump in his throat. “Well that's good, I suppose. Er, likewise. Obviously.”

Sirius chuckles at him and then neighs loudly, nostrils flaring.

“Oh, sod off.” Remus rolls his eyes. “Do thestrals even neigh?”

“I think they might. There is something vaguely equestrian about them, under the ghoulishness -”

“We really ought to have paid closer attention in Care of Magical Creatures,” Remus sighs.

“For the sake of joke accuracy alone,” Sirius agrees.  

“Indeed. Harry’s stuffed thestral actually looks a bit lizard-esque, but odds are it doesn’t favor accuracy any better than our memories do.”

“That’s a thestral? I thought it was a niffler.”

“It has wings.”

“It does? Well we should probably come to a consensus on what it should be called as soon as possible - Haz’s vocabulary is expanding at an alarming rate. I swear to Merlin he said ‘I love Quidditch’ yesterday.”

“Really?”

“Well it was either that or ‘Sirius stop trying to shove that Quaffle at me, I still can barely hold up my own loaf without tottering over.’ Regardless, his diction is becoming very impressive.”

Remus giggles and runs the tip of his finger down the bridge of Sirius’ nose. “Are you going to have him call you ‘Sirius’ d’you think?”

“Well I don’t think I’d want him calling me 'Dad' - I doubt James would mind, but I might. That title will always be his alone. But Sirius? I dunno. A tad formal, I reckon.” He yawns again. “Mooney works well for the two of you - it’s kiddish and cutesy anyways.”

“You’re the one who came up with it,” Remus reminds him.

“I was thirteen, and apparently neither very creative nor very subtle. But Padfoot is too stiff for a baby, we need something more - something.”

“Hmmm.” Remus considers it. “Dad-foot? Pup-a? Fur-ther?”

Sirius raises an eloquent eyebrow at him.

“I could keep going.”

“Don’t let me stop you.”

“Paw-paw? That might be the last one.”

“Thank heavens. What -”

“Shaggy? That’s kind of like ‘daddy’ - also has a nice allusion to the hair tumbleweeds you manage to leave on every spare bit of space in this house.”

Sirius sighs and rolls his eyes. “Padfoot it is, then. Though he’ll probably modify it to ‘Padfeet’ in that kid way they have.” He groans. “Merlin, I love him so much it hurts.”

“A bit like having your heart live on the outside of your body, isn’t it?” Remus yawns again himself, sudden exhaustion making his brain fuzzy and limbs heavy. “Exposed to the elements and such - without its protective covering.”

Sirius laughs thickly, sounding similarly sleepy. “Protective covering? What are you, a beetle?”

The warmth behind Remus’ eyes forces them shut. “I was referring to a rib cage. They really should teach basic anatomy and physiology at Hogwarts - I know I’ve said this before but it’s almost indecent that they don’t -”

“I know what a rib cage is, you ninny,” he hears Sirius say, before he reaches out and flicks Remus’ nipple through his shirt.

Remus gasps at the tickling sting of it, his eyes opening. He watches a wicked grin bloom over Sirius’ face, and barely manages to steel himself from letting out an undignified squeak as Sirius repeats the gesture, a little harder this time.

The calculating look in Sirius’ eyes as he does it causes Remus’ fatigue to desert him in rush, his skin tingling.

Fifteen minutes later, the two of them have made substantial progress into a pleasurably lackadaisical snog session when Harry’s cries from the next room abruptly interrupt.

Sirius, who had been looking triumphant with his success in getting Remus’ shirt off, pauses to grimace, gasping a bit. “Somewhere James is laughing at us,” he grumbles under his unsteady breaths.

Remus feels his eye twitch at the mention; Sirius is better at talking about them than he is.

Remus manages an eloquent ‘Gahh’ of agreement as Harry’s cries escalate, his own chest hitching under Sirius’ skillful hands.

“Where on earth does the phrase ‘slept like a baby’ come from?” Sirius asks, sitting back on his haunches. “Babies sleep like rubbish - it isn’t even gone seven yet.”

“He must get it from Lily, James always slept like the - like he’d taken a beater’s bat to the head,” Remus mumbles, propping himself up on unsteady elbows.  

Sirius groans and rolls toward the bedside table to snatch up the little two way mirror he’d unearthed from somewhere and set up so they could monitor Harry in his room.

“He’s alright,” he sighs, looking into it. “He’s just thrown all of his toys out of the crib in some sort of protest, and is now having second thoughts.”

They both sit up, slinging their legs over the side of the lumpy mattress, Remus reaching for his discarded shirt.

A sudden hard tap comes at the bedroom window and they turn their heads in unison to see an large, grey-and-white mottled owl huddled on the sill, a sour expression on its tiny bird face.

Given the weather’s apparent turn towards the sodden, Remus doesn’t exactly blame it. Rainy wind lashes against the bird’s huddled form, it’s feathers sticking up in wet spikes.

“I’ll get that, you see to the sprog,” he tells Sirius, pulling his cardigan back on as well in anticipation of the cold gust that will surely come from opening the window.

Sirius stands and stretches, already moving for the door. “Somehow I feel I got the short end of this particular wand.”

“I’m saving you from getting slush all over your kit,” Remus placates. “You know that bird is going to shake as soon as I let him in.”

“Yes, but you’re the one less likely to get your fingers bit.”

“If Haz actually had a full set of teeth yet I'd feel sorry for you.”

Sirius flips him a finger as he rounds the door frame.

Remus grins and turns toward the window and its grumpy occupant, wondering who had sent it. He opens the window, barely managing to untie the missive from the bird’s ankle before it flaps off indignantly, spattering Remus’ face with drops.

“And good morning to you, too,” Remus mutters, unfurling the dampened parchment as he returns to the bed.

Sirius returns after only a moment or two. Remus can hear Harry babbling conversationally to his stuffed owls in the next room, his crisis obviously averted and forgotten.

Remus now has the letter unrolled in his lap.

Sirius raises his eyes at it. “Well?”

“It’s from Dumbledore,” Remus explains, hesitantly, watching Sirius’ mouth compress into a hard line at his words. “He wants us to meet with the Dursleys again.”

“Absolutely not,” Sirius huffs. “We are not handing Harry over to those rotten _saluds_ \- I refuse to even entertain the possibility. I’m still furious we even met with them the first time - what’s a second round going to do?”

Remus shrugs and holds the parchment out for Sirius to take.

He thinks back to their tense initial meeting with Harry’s muggle relatives - the tamest point of the interaction being when Sirius had been occupied with using his wand under the tabletop to rearrange the alphabetic refrigerator magnets behind Vernon’s head to spell out 'WUT A HUGE KNOB.’

The man had been desperately uncivil, alternating between roaring belligerent at them and shifting his chair steadily further and further away, as if fearful their strangeness might be catching. The woman had been silent, her shoulders tense as stone.

They’d brought a picture of Harry to show them, as proof of his safety. Petunia had seemed afraid to look at it, keeping her eyes firmly averted from the spot where Remus had propped it against the sugar bowl.

Remus had wondered at the time whether she had been more afraid of Harry, or of her own reaction to him.

Sirius reads the letter, eyes darting over the parchment and hand twitching like he wants to crumple it.

He tuts irritably. “Look, he even refers to it as ‘Harry's situation' - not _our_ situation. I'm his bloody godfather! Anything that's Harry's business is officially mine as well.”

“Well not necessarily officially,” Remus reminds him carefully. “If the blood magic can be used to recognize Petunia as the safer choice it's likely a court would too.”

Sirius rolls his eyes. “Load of fucking rubbish. And that is if the blood magic exists anyway, there's no proof -”

“Yes, well I think we both agree that we aren't willing to risk finding proof the hard way. Dumbledore seems to think the Dursleys -”

Sirius tsks again and drops the offending paper down onto the bed. “So what about them? I'm not willing to sacrifice Harry’s emotional well being for the sake of some hypothetical danger that frankly is going to follow him wherever he goes anyhow!” he grumbles, arms crossed over his chest tightly, as if trying to hold his fear and anger tight against himself, to stop them splattering all over the calm quiet of their bedroom.

Remus’ heart gives a pang, looking at him.

“Especially not after he's already lost every good and important thing in his tiny life,” Sirius continues, folding in on himself even tighter, the color leaching from his face. Remus heart breaks further at the sight. “You and I will protect him just as well as any bloody blood magic, and he'll actually get to - it won't just be about survival, with us. We'll be a _family_. And Harry deserves that - he deserves laughter and warmth and people who care about him above and beyond his bodily safety and the role he has to play in the grand scheme! There has to be another way.”

Remus shuffles over to the edge of the bed and kneels in front of Sirius, reaching out to grab him by the shoulders and pull him in. Sirius comes easily, swaying forward until his face is pressed into the crook of Remus’ neck.

Sirius nuzzles at him a little, his long hair tickling Remus’ shoulder where the hem of his cardigan has slid down.

“They’d probably shove him in the attic or something,” Sirius mumbles against his skin. “They're horrible and cold. And you saw that terrifying thing on their dining table! Some sort of torture device, that was.”

Remus pats his back soothingly, trying to suppress a sudden, inappropriate laugh.

“I’m pretty sure that was a just a knitting machine,” he corrects soothingly. “Arthur wanted to get one for Molly last Christmas, ‘til I convinced him she’d hex his bollocks off -”

Sirius huffs out a warm breath. “Why? She usually humors the muggle fixation so well.”

“It wasn't the muggle thing,” Remus explains, “It was that an appliance is not a present. Don’t you know anything about romance? Though I don't know why I'm even asking that, seeing as last Christmas you got me pants -"

Sirius pulls back, looking crestfallen. “Novelty pants! They were special!”

Remus rolls his eyes. “Yes, very special. Bright purple and covered in animated wee black dogs? You might as well have gotten 'Property of Padfoot' written across the ar-"

Sirius grins. “I thought of that, but James said I needed to be more subtle.”

“And I know you hexed them to - to _nuzzle_ in inappropriate areas. I had to stop wearing them! I got tired of squirming in public.”

“First of all, I did no such thing - they must have been doing that of their own accord, your bits are very alluring - and second of all, you've always been squirmy. Prongs says its because of your sheltered and traumatic upbringing.”

“Mhmm,” Remus hedges, breaking eye contact at the name.

Sirius doesn’t notice, continuing, “James helped me pick those out, you know. He wanted to get you a second pair with little stags but I had to put my foot down. We were very newly an item at that point and I was feeling a bit proprietary.”

Remus smiles, then tries at changing the subject. “So what are we going to say to Dumbledore?”

Sirius sighs and folds himself into Remus once more.

“I don’t know. I don’t -” He swallows thickly and continues in a small voice, “I just keep thinking - what if we weren't here either?”

Remus cannot reply to that. The fear of it makes his wame shrivel up like a bezoar.

It’s true that he and Sirius are poor substitutes for James and Lily, but what if Harry hadn’t had them to turn to? What if Harry hadn’t had anyone - anyone who really knows him, who really cares? The prospect of it is a blank wall of terror in Remus’ mind.

He wraps his arms around Sirius’ back and tightens his grip.

“If we weren’t - what was Dumbledore going to do if we hadn’t been around to claim him?” Sirius asks, voice breaking. “Box him up and send him to those rotten muggles in the post? A little note stuck to his forehead, reading 'Oy you lot, here is the most powerful baby in the wizarding world. He's very small, he likes peas, and it would be absolutely spiffing if you'd try and keep him alive on the off chance I’ll need him again one day. Ta, A Mad Old Warlock'?”

Remus huffs a pained laugh, the breath of air making a tendril of Sirius’ hair flutter against his nape. Sirius is very still in his arms.

“He's keeping things from us,” Sirius whispers, and Remus can hear the terror in it, the confused outrage.  

Remus swallows. “Yes.”  

Years ago Remus would have defended Dumbledore without question. But now -

Perhaps it's that enough years of legitimate acceptance and respect have made him less inclined to applaud the 'effort' involved in treating him like a human being; perhaps the shining patina of generosity on that effort has been rubbed away, worn down through years of expectation in return.

It’s true that Remus did agree to all of it - the spying, the danger, all those horrible forays into the werewolf packs that dogged the Death Eaters' heels - but it had been Dumbledore who had suggested it. To a Remus who was only eighteen. To a Remus who was only too eager to repay Dumbledore's kindness to his adolescent self, in any way he could.  

Perhaps it’s that it wasn’t lost on Remus that he was never sent out on those missions to sway allegiances, but only to collect information; that there was never any belief in possible redemption for the monsters he sought out. The monsters he resembled in almost every way but allegiance.

Perhaps it was the clarity that his own alignment with the side of ‘good’ was directly correlated to his usefulness.

Perhaps it's seeing the potential for Harry to be taken advantage of in a similar vein – for his well being to be discussed as something strategic, as something of _use_ , rather than something that should be upheld for his sake alone.

Perhaps, just perhaps, it’s some sort of latent parental instinct rearing its head. Some bellowing internal voice that says to hell with the greater good - Harry takes precedence over all, over everything.

Even over old debts, already dearly repaid.

“It's not on,” Sirius grits out. “It's making me bloody nervous. If we can't trust _him_ -”

“We have each other,” Remus assures him, fitting himself in closer to Sirius’ frame and squeezing his arms tight.

“And Harry,” Sirius adds, voice strengthening.

“Yes, and Harry,” Remus agrees.

“And we aren't giving him up.”

Remus closes his eyes and shakes his head. “No - no we surely aren't.”

They are both quiet for a time, holding each other and listening to the soft sounds Harry is making in the next room, to the hiss of the city sleet against the window panes.

“So what are we going to do?” Sirius asks.

Remus sighs and pulls back from him slightly. “Well, I’ve been thinking,” he begins.

A plan of sorts has been taking shape in Remus’ mind. It’s what had woken him up, earlier - the promising potential of it rankling until he’d been forced to get up from the bed and find a task to distract himself.

He continues, slowly, "Did Lily ever mention her mother to you?"

Sirius extracts himself from their embrace and scrubs his hands through his hair, roughly combing out the knots.

“A few times,” he answers. “I know she hadn’t been at the wedding ‘cause she was in hospital, or something? And after that Lily’s awful sister moved her to some place - some sort of kennel for the aged and decrepit -”

“A nursing home?”

“Whatever it's called, sounds cruel and unusual if you ask me. Lily was furious, I remember that.”

She had been. Remus is positive Lily would have put a stop to her sister’s machinations, but she and James were in and out of hiding by that point, unable to reveal themselves for any length of time. Remus also knew that she hadn’t been paying her muggle family many visits during the years of the war anyhow, in the hope of preventing them from becoming targets of the Death Eaters’ attention.

“Plus, can you imagine the combined nagging power of all those olds occupying one space?” Sirius continues, grimacing.

Then his face goes briefly slack - a glazed, excited expression creeping over his features that tells Remus that his point is finally hitting home.

Which is about the same point that Remus starts regretting he said anything at all.

“By god, you're right! Moons!”

“Ah, no - I don’t,” Remus tries, though he knows it’s futile. He should have waited until he’d thought everything through, had managed some sort of contingency plan for tempering Sirius’ excitement if the idea proved to be fruitless.

“The _grandmother_ -”

Remus curses himself internally; now isn’t the time to be getting Sirius’ hopes up. “I shouldn’t have - it likely won’t work, anyhow. It’s not as if we can go live in a muggle old folks home.”

Sirius shrugs. “Well, we’ll just have to steal her away with us then.”

Remus cringes. “Absolutely not.”  

Sirius nods, saying, “No - no you’re right. She’s a geriatric, kidnapping would be terribly bad form. Not steal - coerce _._ ” He says this matter-of-factly, as if this is somehow less horrifying a prospect.

Remus pinches the bridge of his nose. “We are not going to strong arm some frail, helpless old woman into coming away with us - she likely won’t even know who we are.”

Sirius stares at him, and Remus can see him trying to work out a way to rephrase Remus’ previous statement into such a way that it will sound like something they absolutely _should_ do, because it isn’t remotely a problem at all.

Remus switches tacks, trying another angle. “And what would we do with Harry? We couldn’t possibly bring him -”

“We could leave him with Molly and Arthur again, they should both be home today,” Sirius cuts him off quickly, undaunted. “He’ll be safe. Besides, Kingsley is staying with them for a few days, too - he owled me about it yesterday.”

“Kingsley? Why?” Remus asks, taken aback.

Sirius shrugs. “He’s helping Arthur with something - something to do with a muggle car. Bark Slugs or something.”

"What does Kingsley know about spark plugs?"

“He was the one who helped me fix up my bike back in seventh year, don’t you remember?”

Remus does have a vague recollection of Sirius tinkering off and on with his monstrous machine in seventh year; he’d kept it, disillusioned, in a clearing behind the Shrieking Shack.

But Sirius and Kingsley had also been dating that year, and Remus had been pouring half of his energy into not appearing so conspicuously jealous that Sirius would notice and the other half into not being so conspicuously jealous that it would interfere with his own Newts prep, with none left over to register what Sirius and Kingsley actually did together.

Aside from all the heart-deflating-yet-decidedly-arousing bouts of snogging.

“Mhmm,” Remus hedges. The prospect of Kingsley being there settles his nerves about Harry, a bit - he might possibly be the most competent wizard Remus has ever met. And Molly and Arthur would protect him as if he were their own, Remus knows that.

But what to do with Harry is sort of besides his original point, which is that kidnapping an elderly woman is not the soundest plan - even if he was the one to tangentially suggest it.

“But,” he says weakly, cut off by the look on Sirius face.

To see him looking hopeful, brightened, for the first time since - it tugs at Remus’ worn heart strings. Every last one.

“She’ll be on our side, Re. She’s a mother,” Sirius says, softly - pleading.

Remus sighs, thinking that it’s possibly not the _worst_ half-baked idea they’ve ever had between them.

“I suppose there’s no harm in asking,” he relents.  

Sirius grins.

 

\---

 

**Five Hours Later**

 

“So,” Remus says, completely lacking a follow up of any kind.

They are standing on the wet pavement of Grimmauld Place, looking up at the gloomy, run-down facade of number thirteen, which has just shuddered into view.

Remus is nervously shifting from foot to foot, a magically enhanced trunk full of all their essential belongings hovering at his elbow, occasionally bumping into him in agitation at being levitated this long.

Sirius is at his right, a lightly-snoozing Harry on his hip.

And on Sirius’ other side stands one Mrs. Daisy Evans; sixty three years of age, in an early yet noticeable stage of Dementia, recently and gleefully absconded from Tilbourne Nursing Center of Tadley, a carpet bag slung over one shoulder, with a large, disagreeable, and very orange cat tucked under one arm and an electric kettle under the other.

“So,” Sirius repeats him, letting out a deep sigh. “Home, I suppose. If one could call it that.”

“It’s only temporary,” Remus attempts to soothe him. “Er, probably. And just think about how frustrating it would have been to try and fit us all in the flat. Besides, Dumbledore would have been able to track us down there.”

“I know, I know,” Sirius grouses. “This is as good a solution as any. Just - ugh, look at it, grotesque architectural design. All that clunky wrought iron. And let me assure you, the interior isn’t going to be an improvement. My parents were of the ‘decapitated head’ school of decor - not to mention all the silk damask. So stuffy. This is a horrible plan, isn’t it?”

“Possibly,” Remus concedes, unable to help himself as he looks up at the ghoulish, lifeless townhouse. “But it’s the only one we’ve got.”

“What think you, Haz? Is this a horrendous idea?” Sirius asks him, giggling him in his arms for emphasis. The material of Harry’s tiny duffel coat crinkles against the leather of Sirius’ jacket as he moves.

Harry responds by blowing a rather large spit bubble, his eyes blinking sleepily under the fold of his wee knit cap. .

“True,” Sirius agrees resignedly. He lifts his chin a bit, staring up at the house, considering. “Then again, returning to the loathed ancestral seat with a bent werewolf, a muggle geriatric, and a dark-lord vanquishing, half-blood toddler with a habit for sucking up on anything remotely expensive - you will be buying me another pair of leather trousers next Christmas, wee bean,” he looks down, addressing Harry again. “It does have a certain 'fuck you' flair.”

Remus snorts, and hears Daisy do the same from Sirius’ other side.

Sirius grins at each of them in turn. “Plus I can park Bessie in the backyard. It will be nice to have a bit more space, I suppose - even if said space is chockablock full of unfortunate memories and tasteless furnishings.”

Remus clears his throat, figuring he might as well voice the thought now. “I was also thinking - it's likely good enough to be under the same roof, but it might be safest to at least sign over part of the property to Mrs. Evans legally. If it’s officially her house as well, likely that’ll be a firmer appeasement of the blood magic.”

“Oh, that's even more brilliant,” Sirius exclaims with relief, shifting Harry to his other hip. “I'll _give_ her the thing - only if you don't object of course, Daisy dear. I could understand you not being overly keen on this moldering old wreck,” he adds.

Daisy shrugs her tiny, wool-layered shoulders and shoots him a cheeky wink. “As long as there's a place for me to plug in my kettle, I can't say I'll be too chuffed.”

Remus eyes the appliance dubiously. The kettle’s chord hanging down in a limp mimic of the cat’s tail opposite it, which has begun to twitch slightly in an agitation similar to the trunk’s.

“Erm,” he hedges, thinking that this is probably the last house in London to have muggle electricity. “We could probably work something out.”

“Now you two are just spoiling me!” Sirius cackles. “Defiling the ancient and most noble house of Black with muggle lectricity? This might be the best day of my life. Now, we must not be faint of heart, my friends, there will be lots of work to do. Everything's likely to be coated with a fine layer of insanity and pretension. Not to mention dark magic. We'll be cleaning up curses for weeks.” He sighs again, though he looks less put out by the notion of virulent curses than he had by the silk damask.

“Have you ever used Ajax?” Daisy inquires, interested. “Used to do a wonder on my kitchen floors.”

“Can’t say that I have but that sounds a stupendous idea,” Sirius assures her. “Can we buy it at Tescos?”

“You and Tescos,” Remus mutters.  

“It’s an affection deep and abiding. Only James ever understood.”

Daisy hikes the cat and kettle up further under her arms, causing one of them to give a startled hiss. “Could we head inside now, darlings? It’s a tad nippy out here.”

“Yes, right. Onward into the breach,” Sirius mumbles resignedly.  

They step up the stoop and Sirius presses his palm flat to the door’s surface. A faint red glow outlines his hand in an instant and he hisses in pain, but doesn’t flinch. The glow recedes and there’s a weighted pause before the door swings open, it’s reluctance palpable.

Sirius lets out a sigh of equal parts relief and mirrored reluctance before shooting Remus a speaking look. Remus nods at him, encouraging.

Sirius squares his shoulders and steps forward across the threshold, both arms tight around Harry, holding him firmly to his chest.

Remus and Daisy follow him, close behind, into the house.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!! <3 
> 
> In case anyone is curious, my thoughts on how It Went Down With Peter in terms of this AU and Sirius being around to be dadfoot:
> 
> \- In the course of their romantic relationship, Remus and Sirius had further deepened their trust in one another (not that you need romance to develop trust but in terms of the way I've written these pals I think the leap to Romantic Intimacy required a lot of trust building in itself) and therefore know AS SOON as they hear about Lily and James that Peter must be to blame. They simply cannot fathom the other potentials and act accordingly  
> \- that action being: they agree that Sirius will go and collect Harry and Remus will go after Peter  
> \- Peter and Remus' relationship has always been different than Peter & Sirius, so this head-to-head plays out very differently  
> \- Remus, being by nature more distrustful of people and their loyalties, knows how to prompt Peter into revealing truthful tidbits as they fight (which can later be used against Peter in trial) - as much as he is ashamed to admit it, Remus has likely been considering these dark possibilities in the back of his mind for months  
> \- Remus also has a particular skill that few do: familiarity with a rare spell that he has been practicing since he was a teenager, as eager to protect his friends as they had been to protect him - a spell to prevent Animagus transformation  
> \- Remus performs the spell during their fight, Peter is unable to transform and eventually successfully captured - capture that Remus also voluntarily submits to  
> \- Both are arrested under suspicion of James and Lily's murder  
> \- Both are put to trial by Veritaserum, proving Remus' innocence and Peter's guilt  
> \- Dumbledore and McGonagall also speak on Remus' behalf  
> \- Peter is sent to Azkaban (from where he will later escape a la Sirius in canon!)  
> \- Remus is set free, but the trial forced him to reveal his status as a werewolf to the entire wizarding world, which will have complicated implications for his future  
> \- Remus and Sirius take Harry with them back to their apartment, intending to raise him henceforth  
> \- Dumbledore intervenes quickly, however, citing an ancient blood magic and calling for Harry's placement with his muggle relatives (ew)  
> \- Remus and Sirius: hell to the no.  
> \- And this chapter begins


	7. Remus Lupin v. Tradition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew fast update, huh?? Actually I have had this written before a bulk of the fic because it is RIDICULOUSLY self indulgent and corny as ALL HELL so naturally it came out of me in one easy, flowing stream. I am merely a vessel for dialogue-based, sappy gay times!! Please life start imitating my art! Lol (she text-laughs desperately)
> 
> I honestly have no defense for this content except that: Sirius Black would want it this way. He would be FULLY, DEEPLY into it and I want that for him. So there.

**December 21st, 1982**

* * *

 Remus rounds the corner to Grimmauld Place, accelerating his pace down the slush-clogged pavement and registering with some concern that he is _still thinking about it_. He hasn’t been able to stop thinking about it, it seems, since the thought first occurred to him - oddly enough in the bakery section of the Tescos, a half-hour prior.

There’s a strange, pressing urgency to the notion that’s flummoxing him, making him feel as if he can barely stand to think about anything else; his thoughts are skittering around his mind like mice under the floorboards. Distracting. 

It makes him feel fifteen again - his emotions a roiling mess inside him, pressing against the confines of his chest and making him feel equal parts invincible and seasick. This time the feelings aren’t as confusing to decipher, but just what he should be expected to _do_ about the sudden and all-consuming desire is vexing in the extreme.

He lets himself back into number thirteen, kicking grey slush off his boots as he climbs the stoop to their door. The wards fizzle and pop in welcome around him as he slides his key into the lock - the addition of the muggle deadbolt his idea, met by Sirius with glee - and lets himself into the house.

They’d spent the last year working tirelessly to make the old place livable; banishing curses and carting off a terrifying amount of dark artifacts and generally unpleasant decor; painting and sanding and scrubbing; slowly but surely making a home. That, and raising Harry.

"Afternoon, Lyra," he says to her portrait as he steps into the hallway past the foyer, stopping to hang his soggy coat on a rack by the staircase, the dark grey of it stark against the cheerful pink and lilac wallpaper Daisy had picked out.

"Is it?" she responds drowsily in her thick accent. "Such a grey day out there, it's hard to tell." 

He mumbles his agreement and hefts his parcels back up, heading down toward the kitchen and wondering if Harry will be up from his nap yet. He listens with an ear to the upper floors, but hears nothing. 

He spares a thought for Daisy's whereabouts as well, before remembering that Tuesday is her afternoon with the bridge club. 

They've set Daisy up with rooms on the ground floor to make it easy for her to come and go on her own, something she spryly takes advantage of at any opportunity. Harry’s room is currently on the second floor, next to his and Sirius’. They’ve only just started making headway on the third story, with an eye to making it Harry’s particular space once he’s a bit older. Remus supposes that with a little luck they’ll be finished with it by the time he’s off to Hogwarts.

Once the renovations are complete, Remus supposes he’ll have to find some sort of employment - or Sirius will, given how fraught Remus’ attempts are likely to be. Sirius’ inheritance was substantial and has sufficed for them thus far, but they’ll need some alternative financial avenue before long; both Remus and Sirius have agreed to leave James’ and Lily’s funds untouched until Harry comes of age to take them.

Remus pushes aside the unpleasant prospect of job hunting - otherwise known as ‘having any number of doors slammed firmly in his scarred, lycanthropic face' - and descends the short staircase at the end of the hall, his earlier thoughts spurring him on once more.

The gravity of his earlier idea pulls at him, insistent; a desire to catch something that’s trying to get away. Like a Seeker's need to catch the snitch, Remus imagines - if he’d ever bothered to care about quidditch beyond the sight of Sirius in his leathers.

Speaking of Sirius, where -

He’s there, in the kitchen, looking lovely and soft in the weak light from the row of windows behind him. His hair is mussed in the particular way it gets when Harry’s had his tiny fists in it, and he’s wearing the navy jumper with the frayed hem - clearly pulled out of Remus' own trunk sometime in the last hour - the fold lines still visible across the chest.

He’s leaning against the sink, methodically munching through a bag of crisps.

Although, on closer inspection -

“Tell me you aren’t doing what it looks like you’re doing,” Remus says, stopping short in the doorway, his train of thought completely derailed by the sight before him.

“Well if it isn’t my moon, my man, the love of my as of yet short but excessively interesting life. ‘Lo, dearest,” Sirius greets him jovially, then, “And I can’t tell what sort of vantage point you have from over there, can I? What does it look like I’m doing?”

Remus raises an eyebrow at him. “It looks like you are licking the flavoring powder off those crisps without actually eating them.”

“Got it in one.”

“Ugh, that is - do I really have to explain to you why that is disturbing?” Remus drops the grocery sack down onto the counter top next to Daisy’s unplugged kettle.

“Oh c’mon Re,  all the nutrition is in the coating, everyone knows that,” Sirius assures him, dropping the next de-powdered crisp back into the bag, where it lands among its fellows with a damp-sounding crunch.

Remus barely suppresses a retch. “You can’t be serious.”

“Almost always, I’m afraid. But I can get Snuffles ‘round if you would like to hear his opinion on the matter - I warn you, it’s likely to be monosyllabic at best. And are you really going to walk by me without a snog? How _remiss_ of you.”

“Ha ha,” Remus replies archly, but leans over and lets Sirius deposit a peck on his cold cheek, even though the little smear of fluorescent orange ‘nutritional coating’ the kiss leaves behind makes him feel a tad queasy.

He sighs and wipes surreptitiously at his cheek with the sleeve of his cardigan, reaching into the fridge to deposit the new bottle of milk.

“I still can’t believe you’ve given your animagus form a nickname,” he says, not for the first time. “As if it’s some sort of distinct alter-ego, rather than a slightly more hirsute -”

“He is an alter-ego!” Sirius swears. “We often have conflicting desires - including though not limited to his penchant for directing his face toward other creatures’ bottoms. Now I’m not saying I, Sirius, completely disagree with that particular pastime.” He shrugs, then shoots Remus a wink. “But I tend to be a bit more discerning about it than he.”

“Charming,” Remus scoffs, or at least tries to; he has the distinct feeling it came out as something infinitely more fond.

Because the truth of it is that Sirius is charming. Odd or silly or maddening, it fails to matter; Remus is effortlessly enamored of every single thing the man does. He always has been.

He’ll take it. He’ll take it all.

Remus looks at him - his dear face, his casual grace, the chipped dark teal nail polish on his fingers - and the feeling runs frantic through his mind once more.

He fiddles with the wrapping on a bread loaf, nerves skyrocketing. “Listen, Pads, I -”  

“You know, I was wondering this the other day when I took Harry to the zoo,” Sirius interrupts. “Do you think animagus forms are always convenient, locationally-appropriate creatures? Or do you think there's a witch in like, Peckham, who went through the whole thing just to find out she's a fucking giraffe? Or like, an iguana or something?”

“Sirius-”

“Do you think anyone has an aquatic animagus? That would be terribly unfortunate - though also bloody cool, if you -”

“Sirius!” Remus exclaims, exasperated.

The man blinks at him. “Yes?”  

"I've been – I've been having thoughts -"  

"Yes, you tend to do that."  

Remus rolls his eyes and tries again, "Yes, well I've – I've been thinking -"  

“One of your best qualities, I find. Right up there with the proficient snogging.” Sirius shoots him a orange-tinged finger gun and another wink.

Remus’ nerves take a back seat to his swelling irritation. “Yes, well, Merlin forbid I get to _finish_ one of those thoughts -”

“I’m not stopping you, just get it out already!" Sirius counters. "I was simply interjecting a few colorful tidbits, in the manner to which I am accustomed -”

“Salizar’s saggy - would you please shut it for two bloody seconds! I've been thinking we should get married!” Remus finally blurts, a little louder than he intended.

“That's,” Sirius starts, then pauses to blink owlishly for a handful of seconds. “That's what you've been thinking?”

Remus’ agitation deserts him in favor of mind-numbing panic. “Er, yes.”

Sirius continues to look blank. “Is that - is that a general 'we should get married' as like a mood you’re in?” he asks, slowly. “Or a specific 'we should get married' as like an action you are attempting to initiate at this very moment?”

Remus thinks for a moment. “Er, the second one.”

“Re, are you proposing to me right now?”

“Ah - yes? Yes, I rather think I am.”

Sirius’ face crumples. “Oh this is a disaster,” he says weakly.

Remus’ stomach climbs hastily into his throat. “What?”

Sirius' eyes widen and he blinks rapidly. “I'm just, I’m just stood here eating fucking crisps - no, _licking_ fucking crisps, and you're - I haven't even brushed my hair today!” he says, voice rising with every word. The crisp packet crinkles at he holds it out and shakes it in some bizarre emphasis of his point.

“Erm -”

“I'm not wearing real trousers!” He plucks at the striped cotton fabric over one thigh. “These are part of a pajama set and I don't even know where the top is! And in the interest of full disclosure and because you’d probably guess anyway, _yes_ I pulled them out of the fucking hamper because I was too lazy to search for something clean! And you're! Oh, Merlin’s sparsely haired bullocks this is so _bleek_.”

It's around this moment that Remus realizes that Sirius is going to say ‘yes.’

Calm floods his brain, elation following close behind. He feels a smile spreading over his face in an ineffable, undeniable pull until he is beaming.

Sirius is not similarly amused. “What are you laughing at, you complete tosser? This is a highly irregular situation! And I have no idea what to do with - what to do with my hands. Gods, this is so much - I wish I could go Snuffles right now, stress is that much easier to deal with as a dog -”

Remus breaks off from grinning like a gibbon to narrow his eyes. “Do that only if you wish to find your nadgers in a more creative configuration than the current setup.”

Sirius presses a hand to his chest in reverence. “This is so romantic,” he almost-whispers, voice hushed and sincere.

Remus watches as he takes a deep breath and smooths an ineffectual hand down the front of his jumper.

“Oh, Merlin,” Sirius breathes. Then, stronger, “Okay, I'm ready - go on, do it.”

Remus makes a show of blinking back at him, fighting against the very strong, exceedingly strange desire to hop about in glee. “Do what?”

“Don't make yourself insufferable. Propose to me, you dolt.”

Remus shrugs, unable to resist the pull of another smile. “Well, if you insist.”

Sirius’ eyes go wide once more, his hands clenching in the bottom hem of his jumper. “I do - I do insist. I have never been so wildly, madly, irrevocably insistent about anything in my entire -”

“Do you want me down on one knee?”

“Of course I do!” he shouts, emphatic and just a hair shy of screechy. His eyes are wider than Remus has ever seen them. “For fucks sake, Moons - it's traditional!”

“Love,” Remus starts, in a tone he hopes is more soothing than amused, reaching forward to pat at Sirius’ elbow. “Considering we are both traumatized magical-war veterans who have been living in premarital debauchery for several years, currently with an elderly woman and our quasi-adopted, evil-vanquishing toddler in tow - not to mention what you still charmingly refer to as 'the poof thing' - I don't think we could make this traditional if we tried.”

“Pipe down and kneel already.”

Remus smirks at him. “You're usually much more gracious about that request.”

“For fucks -” Sirius huffs, reaching out to flick Remus’ ear. “I usually can't get you to say anything as remotely saucy as, I dunno, ‘nipple’ - even in the throes of passion - and here you are making blow job jokes in the midst of a marriage proposal. What in the fuck is happening, Re?”

“I don't know! But you are being very pushy about it, regardless.”

Remus drops down on knee as gracefully as he can manage.

Sirius reaches out and pats his shoulders awkwardly, looking like he’s been hit on the back of the head by a very accurately and vigorously aimed bludger.

“Yes, yes I am,” he says, vehement. “You'd better have a fucking ring.”

Remus stomach gives a twist. “Oh - oh, I don't, actually,” he blurts. “Er, this was sort of a spur of the moment major life decision.”

“No bother, we'll go out and get one tomorrow,” Sirius shrugs, unperturbed. “We'll get two! Matching ones!”

Sirius is beaming now too, but his eyes have gone glazed and infinitely fond, making Remus’ own eyes prickle with tears. Suddenly the moment crystallizes around them, the almost hysteric hilarity downshifting into a sappy sort of warmth that threatens to suffocate Remus with the joy of it.

“Merlin, Remus,” Sirius chokes out, voice barely above a whisper.

“Sirius,” Remus starts, then pauses, a hard knot of emotion impeding his words. He clears his throat around it, reaching out and grabbing Sirius’ bony ankle to settle himself.

“Sirius,” he tries again, “You are the hinge - the crux - of every, of every good thing.”

Remus feels the pads of familiar fingers brushing tears off his cheeks, realizing only then that his eyes are closed.

“Fuck,” Sirius mumbles above him, forcing him to open them once more.  

Remus continues, “And I want you near me, always -”

“Always?”

“Always. So, if you don't have any objections to it - I think it would be especially lovely if you would consent to be married. Er, to me, specifically. For the foreseeable future, at the very least,” and he’s rambling now, he knows he is, but he can’t seem to make himself stop.

Sirius doesn’t seem to mind, letting out a harsh giggle, still staring down at Remus avidly.

“I think - I think I could manage that with very little fuss,” Sirius replies finally, clearly but softly, breaking into a similarly soft and slightly watery smile that suffuses Remus’ entire body with warmth.

Remus snorts, buoyant with the feeling. “And that's fucking likely -”

“Piss off,” Sirius grunts, leaning down, inch by steady inch, to slot their lips together.

The kiss is soft and damp, slightly gross and wholly perfect, the effect of which is making Remus so lightheaded with happiness he feels as if he might float up towards the ceiling like some oversize, person-shaped balloon.

They carry on that way for a while, just leaning into each other quietly, Remus still awkwardly on one knee and Sirius half sprawled on him with his arms locked tight around Remus’ back.

“Why do we always end up on the floor?” Remus asks, voice muffled by Sirius’ hair.

“I've always said we were a very grounded pair,” Sirius mumbles against his neck. “Down to earth, as it were -”

Remus tilts his head and pokes his tongue into Sirius’ ear.

“Uch!” Sirius squeals, squirming slightly but not moving away.

A few minutes later Remus feels a tug at the back of his shirt.

“Moony?” comes Harry’s little voice from somewhere around the vicinity of Remus’ left shoulder.

“Yes, what is it, darling?” Remus tries to turn his head towards him and ends up with a mouthful of Sirius’ hair.

“Crisps?” Harry asks, sounding not at all perturbed at finding his adoptive guardians in a graceless heap on the kitchen floor.

Remus sighs, attempting to extricate himself from Sirius’ many-limbed embrace. “Considering the unhygienic treatment your godfather has been giving them, I think not. How about we go out for some chips?”

“Yes please,” Harry replies with alacrity, quickly insinuating himself into the space that has just opened up between his uncles’ chests.  

Sirius drops a kiss onto the top of Harry’s perpetually-disheveled head.

“Chips, Moons?” he says in scathing tones. “We're celebrating! I think that calls for ice cream at the very least.” He takes up one of Harry's hands and blows a raspberry into his tiny palm, making him squeal in delight.  

“Shall we go to Diagon?” Remus asks them. “We could pick up a few last minute gifts, as well. And Harry loved that avocado ice cream they had at Fortescue’s the last time.”

“You do have some very strange taste buds, don't you Haz? Just like his mum. Do you remember when she was pregnant and -”

“The cockroach clusters dipped in mayonnaise? Vividly,” Remus says with a shudder.

“So, a family outing it is then,” Sirius says, smiling at him, Harry’s dark, messy hair tucked up close under his chin.

“Yes,” Remus replies, after the effervescence dissipates enough from his blood to allow for speech. “Yes, I suppose so.”

And it’s there - somehow, miraculously - in his grasp.

A tiny, fluttering heartbeat. A treasure, glinting golden in the winter light.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> About my earlier defense of this corn-ballery: Make no mistake, Sirius Black - despite all his punk rock rebelliousness - has one kernel of traditional sentiment left in his pureblood body and that is that he is gagging to be WIFED UP. He wants a RING ON IT, and he isn’t ashamed to say it!! He is going to be Remus’ husband and he’s going to love it and that’s the that on that. 
> 
> Also SORRY NOT SORRY, SEVERUS but you don’t deserve that romantic one-liner, so I gave it to these two instead. Git. 
> 
> Headcanons no one asked for:  
> \- The vanishing cabinet that ends up in canon at Borgin and Burkes started out in Grimmauld Place as a possession of the Black family - stolen or commandeered from the property in canon during Sirius' time in Azkaban  
> \- SO in this AU the cabinet would still be inside number 13 when the gang moves in. Remus recognizes it as a twin to the one in the Room of Hidden Things (which the Marauders rummaged through regularly) and with Dumbledore's (calculated) blessing they move that one to the Shrieking Shack, so that Remus can use the cabinets as a go between during his moon phases - which he spends at the Shack with wolfsbane bought by Sirius' family fortune, wanting to be as far from bb Harry as possible, just in case  
> \- ((The tunnel to the Whomping Willow is warded and boarded up - until Peter escapes, that is))  
> \- they keep the wardrobe it in the attic of Grimmauld with the portrait of Sirius' mother, which they replaced with Lyra's portrait after Remus' much dedicated anti-sticking charm research  
> \- Sirius calls it Remus' "Problem Closet," or "Were-drobe" if he's feeling whimsical  
> AND  
> \- Daisy's cat's name is Mr. Brooksbank, after a grumpy neighbor she'd had growing up  
> \- it's not actually a cat, but a kneazle, which Lily gifted to her mother during her seventh year at Hogwarts  
> \- in MY MAKE BELIEVE CANON U (if Daisy existed as I created her, but in canon) when Daisy dies in the old folks home, unrescued by our gallant Wolfstar bois, Mr. Brookshanks sets out to London in search of his original home: the wizarding world  
> \- he eventually wanders to Diagon, where he is picked up by a kindly pet store owner, who tries in vain to guess at the obstinate creature's name for many years before settling on one that the kneazle will actually answer to  
> \- that name being: Crookshanks  
> \- you know the rest <3
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! This fic was an exercise in joy for me and I'm so happy you all came along for the ride!  
> <3<3<3 
> 
> I will be publishing some ficlets in this verse as a sequel to this (many of them also already written and thus coming at you soon!) because I cannot and will not help myself, it is too much fun. Also I want Harry dialogue. All the Harry dialogue. MY SWEETEST BOY I needed to write more of him.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!! <3 
> 
> Also I'm on tumblr as [rhirta](https://www.rhirta.tumblr.com) if anyone would like to come be sad with me about Harry James Potter and how much I love him. Also featured there are pictures of art n' gals I think are pretty. The usual.


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